I woke up the morning of Friday, Oct. 4 with a bright demeanor for the day. Walking out the door at a leisurely pace, I had a pep in my step, ready to attend my weekly work meeting. I sat down in the driver’s seat of my beautiful green 2015 Kia Soul, put my key in the ignition and listened to that puppy purr. As I was about to blast off, I noticed an odd symbol on my fuel gauge, one that resembles a horseshoe and an exclamation mark.

RATS! I am by no means a car girly, actually, quite the opposite. But even I know what that scary mark means. 

My once jovial mood turned sour, and I began my trek on foot down the road to the office with a chip on my shoulder. 

Here’s the thing about cars and me: we do not get along. I am scared of breaking things or doing something wrong. In the past, I would have been able to have someone help me, or just pawn off the work to another person and have it done for me. Now that I am in college and deemed an adult, I must take care of my own affairs and do my own dirty work.

As a girl who is afraid to ruin my car and also can not do a task without a counterpart, I decided in my head I was going to bring an accomplice.

Stomping into the office, I was looking for one man to help me along in my quest to add air to my tires. 

Rule #1 in the guidebook — don’t ever trust Tony Anderson on his attendance. 

I have never been so disappointed in a coworker missing a meeting in my work history. 

I knew I was going to have to pivot my plan. I wanted Tony to join in on the experience because I cannot do anything by myself, and because I had a hunch he has filled his tires with air in the past and was potentially knowledgeable about the topic. 

In the place of Mr. Anderson, I brought along an arguably better partner, Elizabeth Loy, the Assistant News Editor, who also just so happens to be the daughter of a mechanic (she claims to be less knowledgeable on the topic because her dad does it all). 

Leaving the office, I had a sparkle in my eye and a strut in my step. 

As we approached the lovely Mr. Tire in town, that provides the larger area of Marquette with free air, the backs of my knees and my forehead began to perspire in anticipation. 

I wasn’t sure how this escapade was going to go. Would I be able to successfully fill my tires to the desired 33 psi? Or would I have to call AAA because I somehow sucked all the air out of my tires and couldn’t drive myself home?

There were so many different ends to the equation, though they all conjured the thought I wouldn’t make it home. 

Being so brave, I started the scary machine that controlled whether or not I could make it home. I took the air plug cap off the spout on my tires and shoved the nozzle on it and hoped for the best.

I should have included a trigger warning in this because I do not by any means know any of the terminology regarding cars or air pressure machines.

Contrary to my past thoughts, filling my tires was a success! Shortly after putting the nozzle onto the spouts the psi began to rise almost higher than my emotional state. 

After Elizabeth and I did a little celebration dance, we started our journey back to campus with a smile on our faces and more air in the tires. 

For any person out there who has a similar mindset to me, I wish you the best of luck in completing endeavors with motorized vehicles. Small wins like filling up my tires have made me feel better about myself and my car knowledge (I know it really is surface level car knowledge let me have a win).

My biggest advice is look for a short video on YouTube. There are a lot of random men on that app who can help show you how to fill up your tires, and, if you’re lucky, some of them have southern drawls you can listen to when they guide you through the process.

Shout out to my assistant Elizabeth who followed me into battle, knowing that she may not make it home in time to eat lunch with her boyfriend.