Girly Girl

A few days ago at Zoology vs. Wildlife trivia night, I had a conversation with fellow department members about whether or not we had girly girls in our department. We had trouble agreeing on a definition of a "girly girl," and never really decided whether it meant bordering on prissy or just a more feminine girl. Regardless, one male from the department put me into this category, which I didn't feel deserving of until today.

My bike tire went flat somewhere between arriving home on Thursday night and Friday morning 30 minutes before I needed to be at school for a meeting and then to teach. I took the easy way and hopped in the car Friday (I no longer have access to a bike pump since moving, and I wasn't going to try the notoriously slow and frequently late bus for the first time from my new house) and drove to campus. I got side-tracked from visiting the bike store on Saturday by a blueberry festival (I'll have to write about that later, though I was rather disappointed), more blueberry picking, and contra dancing, so I wasn't able to purchase a pump until Sunday. That afternoon I found the hole (a shard of glass was the culprit), patched the tube, placed it back in the wheel, and then attempted to snap the tire back on the rim.

I was using the hook-like tire tools and getting quite black without much progress. The last time I had changed a tire on this bike was at home in Idaho during the winter after returning from the Peace Corps, and I remember requiring the extra hands of my dad for this task. I had changed plenty of flat tires alone on my Peace Corps bike, so I felt confident in my abilities to handle things and wasn't going to take it somewhere. I thought an extra set of hands would help, so I got Sunshine to lend me a hand. But we still struggled to the point that I gave up. My excuse was maybe that the rubber too was old and no longer flexible enough. (I have had this bike for at least 10 years now.)

By this time the bike shop was closed on Sunday, and I had office hours scheduled this morning. So I threw the tire in the car and drove past the bike shop on my way in this morning. It wasn't open, so I continued onto school, risking another parking ticket today. I went back to the bike shop this afternoon. The mechanic on duty was a tattooed skater-looking girl (I'm sorry to stereotype) with the baggy shorts and ragged t-shirt; someone who could definitely hold her own. She kind of reminded me of Anneli, the only girl who played on the football team in high school. I explained I had trouble getting the tire back on the rim despite some extra hands and three tools. She snapped it on quickly without any tools and handed it back. Embarassed, I thanked her, and walked out feeling rather girly.