Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: FRIDAY, March 30, 1990 TAG: 9003300040
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: Ed Shamy
DATELINE: LENGTH: Medium
There's a community out there that looks to me to set an example, to blaze the moral high road, and I've tramped the path of the damned.
Today I turn over a new leaf.
I'll compensate for my self-centered commentary by performing a public service, to flex the muscle that a free press should - nay, is obligated to - exert on behalf of its readers.
From now on, it'll be good news or no news, it'll benefit the community or it won't be written.
Here's a dose of goodness from Thursday:
It is drizzling and damp. I'm driving on Washington Avenue in Vinton.
THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA THUNKA.
I pull over to check the tire.
TSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.
(Remember this when the Academy meets next year to award the Oscar for Best Sound in a Newspaper Column).
It is hissing air, the life seeping slowly from my P155 80R/13 whitewall tire, a radial in the spring of its life.
Rain is dripping, air is hissing, my shoulders are sagging. That tire died in my arms.
I replaced it with a spare tire intended by the Nissan Corp. for a wheelbarrow but inadvertently put in my trunk. I was delighted that none of you passing motorists troubled yourselves to help me. It was not nice weather for changing tires and you have plenty of problems of your own.
So far this doesn't sound much like good news, does it?
But guess what?
I found your keys, Bubba. Those keys that you dropped on Washington Avenue, that you've been searching for frantically? Guess who ran them over, Bubba?
GUESS, BUBBA!
They are two keys for a Ford - trunk and ignition, I suppose - and their jagged stems are hidden by rubber, deep in the meat of my tire, Bubba.
Hope you weren't late for work on account of your keys gouging the snot out of my tire, Bubba. Jeez, I feel terrible.
A third key on the ring is probably your house key, Bubba.
If you had to sleep outside last night under the canopy at the Lancer Mart I feel real bad, Bubba. Sorry to inconvenience you.
But give me a call before you call a locksmith, Bubba.
For $42.23 - the price of a new tire - I'll hand over your keys. The computerized spin balance and the new valve stem were thrown in free by a sympathetic tire salesman. He had never seen keys embedded in a tire before, and the whole mess is now on display in the hall of fame in Tire America at Valley View Mall. You could look it up.
Maybe the tire people will give you your keys back, Bubba.
You're welcome. If I find someone's keys, by God, I'm going to do my best to find their rightful owner.
Cough up the $42.23, Bubba. COUGH IT UP BEFORE I THROTTLE YOU!
And keep your damned keys in your pocket next time.
See? There's some good news. Bubba's gonna' get his keys back.
by CNB