I was out at the bar with a friend of mine. He’d picked me up so I could have a few drinks and not worry about getting home; had also offered to drive me home when I needed it. Well, he forgot that last part, and, since the bar was so close to his house, he got to the point where he couldn’t drive any more (this was an incredibly-rare lapse in judgement on his part). I summon a lyft.
A new-model Toyota SUV picks me up. Maybe it’s a Highlander or a Sequoia; I don’t know because they all look the same to me. I get in, and we’re off, and man the car is making some really terrible sounds and is really bumpy. I mention this to the driver, and he tells me it’s been acting up, but nothing to worry about; I remain unconvinced. We’re now about half a mile away from my pick-up spot, and it smells like the inside of a tyre. I tell him to pull over and lo-and-behold: it’s not just flat but SUPER flat.
He stands there dumbly until I, a little sauced, say:
“Ok, where’s your spare and where’s your jack?” I tell him to ensure the parking brake is on, we find a couple pieces of breezeblock to chock the wheels, and then I jack it up and we swap out the tyre. Another guy stops by and helps, too.
Eventually, we’re back on the road (surface streets) and he gets me home. I actually gave him a pretty generous tip, given the shitshow, because I know he’s out of the count for the rest of the night and is about to have to buy a new tyre. I remind him the spare is only good for 55 mph. He thanks me profusely for being understanding and for helping get him back on the road, and I get out of the car and saunter inside.
Not the worst possible story; hopefully, mostly, a funny one.