An eventful day in a skirt

Today may have not been the best to choose as my once per month day in a skirt. Why? Oh, just had to try to change a tire on a Jeep (in the wind, approximately one block away from my house, no less). I actually had a Marilyn Monroe moment at one point when I went looking for something to put under the jack (this was before I figured out the right jackpoint, which is about 900 feet under the front bumper).

Then, to make matters stupid, I searched the Jeep over and found no sign of a tire iron. The stupid-ass jack with the long handle (so you can reach those 900 feet under the car to actually jack it up) and the spare tire (in thankfully good condition) were there. I wonder if the thing has ever had an iron ...

Anyway, my dad drove by at the crucial point — the preparation to curse the heavens, all makers and owners of Jeeps, and hiders of tire irons — and, tire iron in hand, helped me through the next 45 minutes of changing the bloody tire. (It took that long to finally figure out where the stupid jackpoints were.) He also mentioned that he'd had a flat this morning as well, which wasn't nearly as flat as mine and made it to the gas station to air it back up with no real trouble.

The flat is currently being fixed and hopefully has no major issues. I suspect a nail in the driveway, or else a very sharp rock.

I finally got to work at about 10 minutes to 11, phone ringing harder than ever, only to discover that people had been calling the other office because, darn it, they want their papers and my office isn't open to let them in. Of course, I never heard any of those calls, but instead talked to The Publisher, who insisted I just buy new tires, as winter's coming. Sorry, but I can't afford to drop $150 on new tires unless I absolutely need to (ie, the flat can't be fixed). That is, unless The Publisher gives me a raise ... ha!

And then we got a call that a barn north of town was getting torn down and would make for some interesting photos. I got delegated to the task and, while somewhat interesting, barn toppling is incredibly slow. They were using a fancy bulldozer-forklift thing excavator / backhoe with forklift prongs (I don't know what the hell it's called) to lift large pieces off in an awkward fashion and then attack it by hand with prybars and the like in order to salvage wood.

So I got to stand outside in the wind (in a skirt) for another hour taking photos from the shoulder of the highway and the ditch next to the dying barn. (Got a wolf whistle while doing it, too, though it was from some dumb teenaged guy.) I did find out that the owner of the property actually lives in Florida, which I thought strange, but apparently that's how farming is done these days ...

It has turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant day otherwise; nevertheless, the rum consumption shall commence early today.