Unfortunately, for the most part I happen to enjoy shopping.  I say unfortunately because, well, for one thing I’m a guy, and we’re not really supposed to like that kinda thing, and for another, for some unknown reason, shopping tends to cost money.  Money I don’t usually have a lot of.

I also say “for the most part” because quite honestly, there are some things I’d just as soon appear magically whenever I need them, without my ever having to go look for them, learn about them, compare them, and most especially, pay for them.

Right up near the top of that list would be tires.

But, as it so happens in life where the rubber has to meet the road, I could no longer put off the inevitable.  I needed tires.  If I’d waited any longer, I would have been driving on the rims, then I would have had to go rim shopping, which I’ve never actually done but somehow assume would be just as boring and expensive.

I parked outside the tire store, got out, and took a deep calming breath.  The fact that the air was heavily scented with rubber dampened the calming effect however, so with less than stellar enthusiasm I pushed through the doors into the store.

I was greeted by a very pleasant young man who looked like he actually enjoyed being surrounded by tires all day.  Was that even humanly possible?

I put on my fake happy face, not wanting to quash his spirit by letting him see that I, somehow, lacked the same joyous love of radials that he did.  With a bit of embarrassment for overstating the obvious, I told him I was there looking for tires.  I mean, I had to assume he didn’t think I’d come in looking for bedroom furniture.   

“So, what type of tires are you looking for?” Now I suppose to a tire salesman, that’s an intelligent question.  To me, not so much.  Everywhere I looked in the showroom I could see round black rubber.  So it wasn’t too much of a stretch here to assume that they didn’t come in other colors, shapes or materials.  So did I really have all that much of a choice?

Seeing the blank look, and quickly assuming – obviously correctly – that I’m simply not a “tire guy,” he decided not to press me for an answer to his question, and instead led me over to a display. 

Huh, what do you know.  Round, black and rubber.  So apparently I must have known what type of tire I was looking for after all.

“These would be a good choice for your rig,” he began.  He used “rig” because I have a small SUV, and we’re guys, and so we’re apparently going to bond over these tires.  On the other hand, a woman driving a small car is probably in a “rigette.”

“They have an aggressive tread pattern,” he continues (good – nothing wimpy for my rig), “they’re lined with Kevlar,” (apparently a definite advantage when I’m running from my next bank heist), “they’re well siped” (huh?), “and they’re very quiet” (thank goodness for that, because I hate a tire that talks a lot while we’re driving).  “And besides that, they look really great mounted,” (thank goodness, because why would anyone buy a tire and not have it mounted?  Or is this comment on the off chance that I want to have it stuffed by a taxidermist and hung on the wall of my den?).

“Sure, sounds great,” I say, trying to look both intelligent and halfway interested.  “So how much are they?”

He leads me over to his desk, taps some keys on his computer, stares at the screen, frowns, taps again, frowns again and finally looks up with an air of great confidentiality. 

“This is one of the finest tires on the market for your rig,” – we’re still bonding – “and normally they’re pretty expensive, but I can swing a pretty sweet deal for you right now.  Here’s what I can do.”  He writes a number down on a piece of paper, glances around to be sure no one else can see it – apparently the sweet deal is a state secret, even through we’re alone in the store – and passes it across the counter to me.  
I look down at it, and am actually pleasantly surprised.  Not as big a number as I’d feared.  Maybe tire shopping isn’t so bad after all. 

“Yeah, okay” I nod.  “That’s not too bad for a set of four.  Let’s do it.”

“Uh – that’s for each tire, not for all four.  But it does including mounting and balancing.”

My mouth drops open, forgetting for the moment that I’m infusing my gums with tire fumes, and I stare at him in shock.  “You don’t understand,” I finally stammer.  “I just want four tires.  You’ve evidently priced tires, rims, brakes, axles, shocks, new upholstery and a custom paint job!”

“Yeah I know, they are a little expensive.  Tell you what, I’ll throw in new valve stems too!”

Deciding that I don’t really need new tires that cost more that I paid for my rig – a term that’s grating on me more by the second – I ask my vulcanized new friend to roll me over to something that’s a little less gold-plated.  We tour through a few more displays that all look the same, and I finally settle on one that’s round, black and rubber, but thankfully a tiny bit less expensive. 

I leaf through a magazine – Tire People, or something like that – and at long last I’m out the door and down the road.  I’m expecting something great for all that money, but the only difference I can feel is that I’m riding substantially higher off the ground, thanks to my lighter wallet.

But hey, those new valve stems sure are nice.

Paul can be reached at paul2887@ykwc.net.