I live in Minnesota. It is cold during the winter. Really cold. And tires on a car, in case you didn’t know, like to deflate a bit when they are cold. Apparently, it’s important to have the air pressure in your tires correct. Not only that, but the annoying tire pressure warning light will not go off until you fix your problem.

Two science-y bits here you can skip if you want: 

Why do tires deflate in the cold? Because air becomes denser in the cold. What? The molecules in air shrink when they are cold, idiot – so they take up less space and so your tires becomes deflated. Conversely, when air is hot, the molecules expand.

Why is it important to have the correct air pressure in your tires? Because bad shit can happen when you have less control over your steering and braking, like when you need to make a fast stop or a quick maneuver, but your tires are bogged down. Ever ridden a bike with flat tires? They need air to roll.

I have one tire that consistently needs air – and yes, I plan to replace it someday, but the treads are still deep, and this is only a winter problem. My husband, George is in charge of this tire thing, just like I am the only one who can properly and logically load the dishwasher. But George was shirking his responsibility and ignored my verbal prompts until one day when we were in the car together on the way to the dreaded Costco.

Before we left, I asked George to use the gauge and check the tires, and he detected that yeah, the tire was “pretty low”, so I insisted we stop at the nearby Speedway to have it filled because I was tired of having my life endangered and commented that he shouldn’t be so cavalier with my safety. He looked out the window, but I heard the sigh, even if it wasn’t audible. It was going to be a long errand-running day.

I felt a little bad when George hopped out of the car once I carefully positioned the proper side of the vehicle next to the air machine at the gas station because it was bitter cold outside and working your hands without gloves in those conditions can be hard and painful. How cold was it? Like in the negative degrees with the wind blowing. George seemed to be taking a long time standing in front of the machine and not working the hose and after a few minutes, he jumped back into the car. Rubbing his hands, he asked if I had any quarters.

“For what?”

“Air. The credit card machine isn’t working.”

“What?”

George had the center console up and was digging for change. “Are you kidding me with this?” I asked. “Why would they do that? It’s fucking air.”

By now he has handed me my purse and I’m furiously digging for quarters, but since it’s a brand new purse I was coming up empty – I’d recently dumped and cleaned all the contents from my old bag before the transfer – and that included about $50 in loose change. “It’s Minnesota!” I raged. “They shouldn’t be charging for air. What if someone was in trouble from a pressure loss and they have an accident because they couldn’t afford air? Or if they couldn’t find any freaking quarters!” Furiously, I told George I would get us some quarters and then marched inside and waited in line for ten minutes until I got 20 quarters. I was kind to the nice cashier – so don’t think I went all Karen on her – but I did explain that the store shouldn’t be charging for air. And that some things should still be a courtesy. And that the owners should make sure their credit card slots actually worked. Several customers were nodding at my comments and the cashiers both agreed. But I doubt the owners will ever know or make changes.

Both of us back in the car, the tire finally filled and the dashboard hazard light off, I realized that we were low on gas, and pulled out of the lot as I stated to George that he was no longer allowed to give business to that Speedway. Even though I knew he wouldn’t listen to me, he nodded as I drove to another station. At my request, he started the Google going and discovered that in California – air has to be free. California. Right. Does it ever get to negative 50 degrees in California? Do they have a problem with their air molecules there?

“Maybe it’s time to get our own tire pump,” said George.

“And how much does that cost? You’re missing the point. Who decided that charging for air was going to elicit a good feeling? How about a … ‘We know the price for gas is a lot, but dammit, our air is free because it’s stupid to charge for air and we care about you. Our customers are important, and we want you safe. And we want you to shop with us. We’re a company who believes it’s more important that you choose us when you have gas and convenience needs, because our fucking mission statement is that we give a shit.’”

“I’m not sure you’re going to find that mission statement anywhere,” said George. He hopped out at the next station and endured the bitter cold again as I Googled some more – trying to discover where we could get free air. And I felt sad. Really sad. Because it looked like most stations charged for air, or their air machines were always broken. Comments from people in the sinkhole of the internet were not comforting.

I felt like I needed to shake off the experience and move on to getting into the head space for Costco. My hope was that it was so freaking cold outside, people were not shopping. We would be a brave few amongst the smart shoppers. We’d get in and get out.

Once in the lot of Costco, my hopes were dashed as the traffic was bumper to bumper. I pulled in a big gulp of (free) air and tried to settle in.

“Hey,” said George. “Do you have any cash?”

“What?” I asked alarmed. George always paid for our Costco run with our Costco/American Express card. A Costco run could be expensive because we’d let the list grow really long before we trekked over.

“Do you know your PIN number – we could get cash inside?”

I swallowed hard. I knew what was happening. The thing is, George has a bad habit. And I will shame him here a bit, but hey, this is a slice of marriage, folks. Maybe blogging about it will help. George has plenty of money, but he’s chronically disorganized and doesn’t like to pay the bills on time. Why, George, why? For 30 years, he has probably accumulated thousands of dollars – you heard me – with late charges. Totally unnecessary. But he won’t learn and reenacts this process every single painful month for years and years and years. I run from the room with my ears plugged when I hear him trying to convince people with some kind of swagger in his voice that they shouldn’t charge him the late fee. Insane? Yes. It is.

“Did you cancel the Costco/Amex because they charged you a late fee?”

“Do you have the PIN to the debit card or not?” he retorted.

I drove slowly and silently through the lot, wanting to scream as I turned to leave and go home. We were not prepared. And George knew that my silence was the answer.

But you know what? Maybe if Speedway hadn’t charged us for air, it would have gone down better for poor George that day. I totally blame them for everything.

#airshouldbefuckingfree #savegeorge