See this story at BrooklynDaily.com.
By Carmine Santa Maria
Brooklyn Daily
I’m madder than my local Esso dealer on the day they made him change his shop’s name to Exxon and start selling scratch-off tickets instead of oil changes over the fact that I can’t get help for my wheels the instant I need it on Christmas Day!
Look, you all know the ol’Screecher celebrates just one thing on Christmas: eating great food and being with the family!
So it won’t surprise you to learn how upset I was after me and missus filled the Hyundai with presents for the kiddlywinks and piled in, then stopped short the second we realized we had a flat!
Now, I don’t need to tell you that in this day and age it is easier to get an egg sandwich and a case of beer at the gas station than it is to get oil checked and the wiper blades replaced; but it is literally impossible to find someone to fix a flat any day of the week, let alone on Christmas Day!
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “Carmine, haven’t you told us before that you’re a card-carrying member of the Triple-A who has doubled-down on roadside-assistance packages just to ensure you’re able to get where you gotta go pronto no matter what mechanical ailment your car might have?”
The short answer is, “Yes, I have both AAA and Hyundai Roadside Assistance, and ‘Yes, it is still very difficult to get said assistance on the most wonderful day of the year,’ ” but this column isn’t about short answers, it’s about long, drawn-out answers that don’t make much sense. So quit interrupting me and let me finish!
To make a long story endless, my lovely wife Sharon and I learned that instead of sugar plums, Santa brought us a half-flat tire on the driver’s side. Two days before, the dashboard idiot light told us we needed air in the tires, and we dutifully drove just around the corner to the tire repair shop on Bay 50th Street and Cropsey Avenue.
They checked the air, setting the tires to their proper level, and the tire mechanic warned us to watch it and, if any tire needed air the next day, bring it back and he’d plug it.
But on Tuesday there was no indication the tire was low, so we let it be.
Big mistake!
Come Christmas morning, the tire was half full and the shop was closed, so I checked the MyPhone for nearby tire mechanics — a futile search if there ever was one. I found some gas stations that were open, but they were only selling gas and sandwiches. My only recourse was to put back air in the tire, so we slowly drove to gas station by Pathmark on Cropsey Avenue that has free air for a dollar.
We backed into the air pump and I told Sharon to go out and fill the tire, but she told me she couldn’t do it because she just got her nails done. That left it up to me, so I hobbled outside with my cane and tried to twist off that stupid little cap on the air valve.
Folks, it turns out my fingers are too fat to turn that tiny thing, and I exhausted myself just trying. So I opened the sliding door on the van, moved the toys out of the way and copped a squat.
Then the first of my Christmas Angels appeared.
A small dark-skinned man who I believe was from Samaria was walking on the sidewalk towards the car. I started waving my cane at him to get his attention. He stopped over, but it became immediately clear to me that he didn’t speak a word of English. So I did my best Helen Keller impersonation, using sign language to point at to the flat tire, point at the air machine, show him the crisp dollar bill I had in my hand, and finally point to the valve on the tire.
He quickly ascertained what was going on, than shocked me by saying “No!”
But he wasn’t saying he wouldn’t help me. Instead, he took the dollar, went over to the air machine, and showed me it only took quarters!
I made Sharon hand over the roll of quarters she keeps in her purse as a replacement for brass knuckles in case someone gets frisky, and handed it over to the Samaritan. He took only four, deposited them, and the two minutes of air started flowing. He brought the air hose to the tire and started the lefty-loosely procedure on the nozzle cap and put in the air.
Miraculously, the tire became solid and round. I thanked my angel profusely, and even offered him a crisp $10 bill for his tremendous help. He refused to accept it, nodded his head, smiled, and even though he never uttered the words, in my heart I heard him say “Merry Christmas!”
We got to see the grand kids, they loved their presents, and I enjoyed quality time and great food with the family. Story over.
Screech at you next week!