Originally, I had plans to post about other subject matter, but then I realized that my tire was flat. So, today, I’m going to talk about a type of vehicle that I dislike, the Scrapper Truck. Sure, scrappers probably see themselves as performing some type of valuable service while lining their pockets with money that they get from going around in rusted out, smog-coughing, muffler-less old wrecks scavenging metal. What I see is the cause of all the little bits of metal and debris that fall from their over spilling, oversized loads onto the roadway. I don’t mind if somebody wants to take some metal out of the garbage, though there won’t really be any there, because I recycle.. I do mind when they steal from the recycling bin. That stuff is for my city’s recycling program, not them, and it means that the recycling program, which provides jobs and benefits to city workers loses tens of thousands of dollars in metal recycling materials each year. One can only hope that the city tries to make that up via citations under ordinance code 169.81.5 for “vehicle load not properly secured” -mentioned in a previous post about citations. Maybe having to pay out a $138 fine would discourage scrappers from overloading their rust-bombs to the point that it spews bits and pieces all over the road.
I also mind when scrappers come into people’s private yards and snatch up their BBQ grills, their kid’s bikes, and/or their patio furniture… or in my case last year, the lady who climbed up into my yard and stole my house’s wrought iron flower boxes (it cost $1,600 to have new ones made and installed!). I say, F-you to scrappers because anything they do that’s good for the environment would have been done anyway, and without having so much crap stolen and damaged. Just look at what happened to my tire! I’ve highlighted the area on one photo where a jagged piece of metal sliced into my tread, and zoomed in on the next one. I’m pretty sure that itty bitty metal shard was one of the pieces of debris I noticed on the road the other day and commented about to my brother who was with me in the car. Moments later, I caught up with the source of that debris: the overflowing scrapper truck I even took a picture of. I ought to track the guy down and demand he compensate me for the tire, but he’d probably pay me in aluminum cans yanked from people’s recycling, or pilfered copper piping freshly hack-sawed from somebody’s house.
The tire is ruined, which super sucks to the tune of about $300. Like I’ve said in previous posts, Z rated tires don’t come cheap. But, if anybody has a line on a good price for some decent 235/50ZR18 tires, let me know. Thing is, just last Friday, I had my winter tires swapped off my car for my summer tires. My Dunlop WinterSport M3 winter tires are actually more expensive than the set I run in summer, so I suppose I should count myself lucky that it wasn’t one of them.
Better yet, when I pulled off the road into a parking lot to change my tire, I had 7 different guys come up offer to help me change the tire, when clearly, I was doing okay by myself. That’s fine, I don’t really resent people being helpful, but it seems odd that so many people assume that an able bodied person would need assistance changing a flat. I mean, jeez! It’s a task that can be performed with rudimentary tools at the side of the road, how hard could it be?
There was one guy who did annoy me though. He came up while I was hunched over, loosening lug nuts, getting my knees all muddy from the rain and dirt on the ground, and said “Baby, where your boyfriend at to help you change that?” I replied “He would only get in my way.” because the last thing you want to tell some sleazy guy with a line like that is that you don’t have a boyfriend. He nudged the spare tire that was sitting on the ground with his toe and came back at me with “I’ll get down and dirty wit-choo”, so I gripped my little tire iron, stood up and smiled, then employed my stern voice, saying “I got this, thanks.” He finally took the hint and walked on toward the liquor store across the street from where I had stopped. Good riddance. After that a lady in an SUV parked next to me and rolled down her window to say “Girl, you remind me of myself, doing that!”, then proceeded to carry on a conversation on her mobile phone while watching me change the tire. If not for people pestering me while I was trying to take care of the problem, I probably could have finished in half the time it took me. It wasn’t too stressful when all was said and done, but I definitely could have done without it. Later, I tried to cheer myself up with a cherry limeade from Taco Bell -it didn’t work, but it tasted good. So, word to the wise, stay clear of those scrapper trucks. Go ahead and call them in when you see them maneuvering around on city streets with lawnmowers, fridges, pipes and debris balanced precariously in a pile in the bed of the truck, because the next tire that runs flat as a result of the crap that falls off their trucks could be yours.
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