I admit that I don’t have the most profound thing to write today. At the same time, it has been on my mind since yesterday, when I got a flat after I ran over a pothole while getting off the Mass Pike. So I suppose I shall simply say what I wish to say about the subject, and be done with it.
I wish to talk about the donut.
By “donut,” I mean that small spare tire thing that you usually find in compact cars. My Honda Fit has one. The older Honda models used to have a full size spare; now they come equipped with donuts.
Because the donuts are smaller, the compartment that holds the donut also has this really snazzy molded holder for the jack. I found out this morning, as I was getting my tire fixed, that if you take out this snazzy molded holder thingee, you once again have room to keep a full size spare in your car.
I have gotten rid of the snazzy molded holder thingee. The picture you see is the last few hours that I will have a donut in my car. I ordered a full size spare, and it will be at the tire shop within a few hours.
I’m also getting rid of the jack that came with my Honda Fit, preferring instead my awesome, manly hydraulic jack. When I use my hydraulic jack, I feel as if my car is resting on a big, reliable surface. The one time I used the jack that came with the car, I felt as if my car was resting on a surface about the size of nine postage stamps; I do not like working on my car when part of it is resting on a surface the size of nine postage stamps.
So, once again: in addition to a jack that scares the living daylights out of me, the standard issue on my car is, once again, the donut.
Let’s stop for a moment, and consider the donut.
According to the glaring warnings on said donut, it is only for temporary use, perhaps fifty miles or so. Also, you’re not supposed to drive it at speeds beyond 50 miles per hour.
I didn’t read the warning about the speed when I slapped the donut on my car. Driving at 70 on it was therefore kind of awesome; the whole thing buffeted as if it were in a storm. It’s kind of even more awesome in retrospect, now that I realize I could have been killed doing this.
At the same time, I think about the alternative. I was expected to drive at 45 miles per hour on the highway, where the average speed of the cars is 70. That would have made me really popular with Massachusetts highway drivers.
So let’s go over this again: your two choices, when driving with a donut, are to either drive dangerously slow or fast enough to risk the tire blowing out. Either way, there’s a good chance you may die.
Finally, remember, for those without hydraulic jacks, that in order to get the donut on the car in the first place, it is necessary to use a rickety jack that a car could easily fall off of. This means that there is a good chance you may be seriously injured...a good chance, in fact, that you may die.
I like living. It’s this pleasant thing, and I’m told good health is the key to a long life. Dying is definitely bad for my health, therefore.
There is little reason for the development of the tiny rickety jack, and there is no earlthly reason for the invention of the donut. It is worse than useless; it is a menace.
I don’t wish to hurt the feelings of my donut, but I am glad we are parting company.
And…and I don’t like the jack either; I’m using my hydraulic jack, okay?
Thank you. Thank you very much.