Why do tires hate me?

It is unnatural how many tires I seem to go through. The worst part is, there is nothing consistent about the incidents except I usually end up on the side of the road calling one of my parents in tears.

My friends laugh at me. Well, they say they are not "laughing at me," but they are "laughing at the odds of it happening to me."

Somehow, I don't believe it.

I often reflect on the past flats, and I try to look for consistencies. Nothing can explain it. Three different cars I have driven, four different towns I have lived in and even more houses I have stayed at, yet I still seemed to find my car sitting close to the ground or the yellow light of doom turns on (the tire light on the dashboard, that is).

I remember my first flat tire. I was driving a '96 Neon, which was a death trap to begin with. My sister had come to stay with me in Terre Haute and we were on our way back to Linton. I hit a massive pot hot, and next thing I knew I heard a "thump, thump" noise and had to pull over.

My first instinct was to start crying. My sister called our parents while I tried to calm myself down. I had no idea how to change a tire. I had only lived away from home for a couple of months. After sitting on the side of the road for over 30 minutes waiting on my parents, a state trooper pulled up behind us.

"Why is she crying?" was the only question he asked, which made me feel like a bigger moron. Finally my dad came to the rescue and fixed the flat.

When I was commuting to Vincennes University, I seriously went through six tires in one semester. At that time I was driving "the boat," which was a Grand Marquis.

Two friends and I were on a midnight trek to Evansville, and halfway there both of my back tires went flat. Yes, both of them. We tried the "Fix-a-flat" to no avail.

We had to stop in Vincennes and borrow someone else's car. The tires had stayed aired up all night sitting at the curb, so the next morning I decided to try to drive it home after not sleeping all night.

I got to Bicknell and one of the back tires went flat. It was 7 a.m., and all that was open was a gas station, so I was stuck. I could have put the donut on, but (and I hope my dad doesn't read this) I had lent it to my friend who lived in Terre Haute. I had to wait about two hours for him to come and save the day.

One night I had a dream that I had gotten a flat tire. The next day I had to take one of my friends to Linton from Jasonville. As I am telling her about the dream, my car starts pulling hard to the right. Yet again, a flat tire.

I got a new car last August, a 2008 Nissan Versa. I got the car on Saturday, and had to go to school in Vincennes on Monday. Guess what? I got a flat tire. The side wall blew out of the tire, and the dealer that I bought it from considered it "wear and tear." After two days, I had worn it out? I think not. They wanted to charge me $216 to fix it. I called my mom and she straightened those people out.

The strangest experience I had was about two months ago. I took my car to Tieman's in Switz City, and I was getting some strange looks.

"Uh, ma'am? You have a bone in your tire ..." one of the men told me. I am pretty sure that could only happen to me.

Last Thursday, I had a school board meeting in Bloomfield. Low and behold, the yellow light of doom came on and my frustrations arose. I pulled into the school parking lot and I could hear the air pouring out of my tire. I called my mom to inform her that my bad luck continued.

I went into the meeting, intending on fixing it after. The hour-long meeting finally ended and I checked my phone to find a message saying, "The tire is fixed. Love you!" from my mom. She and my dad had driven to Bloomfield to fix it for me.

Sadly, that is just a few of the experiences I have had with the tire rebellions. Luckily, I have great family that comes to my rescue and have never been left stranded.

Now, I just need to figure out why tires hate me.