A few years ago I was driving up north on the Turnpike and there was a fire at one of the refineries in Elizabeth. There were a bunch of helicopters flying near the fire, they were flying kind of low and were pretty loud. The road wasn’t shut down but traffic was slow due to rubbernecking. So I was hearing the WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! of the helicopters and then I started feeling the WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! of the helicopters. I remember thinking goddamn those fuckin’ helicopters must have been really low for me to feel it in the car. After I passed the fire and I still heard and felt the WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! I realized that it wasn’t the helicopters, I was driving on a flat tire. By this time I had driven on it for about three or four miles, so my dreams of using the fix-a-flat were dashed. Of course I didn’t have a jack and by the time I got to the next rest area (after having a parade of people drive by me pointing to my flat tire) I was pretty much driving on the now ruined rim. Which meant I had to drive home on the tiny spare tire that looks like it belongs on a Big Wheel.