The 'Don't Do This' guide for guys: The case of the flat tire

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I don’t get the roads in Austin, Texas.

Imagine if the turn-in for the parking lot to Target was directly off I-77. It’s kinda like that. Let's just say I feel like I'm learning the new NASCAR two-car drafting rule ... and my tires have met a few curbs.

One night, I went to dinner at Uckiko with Tucker Max and Jonathan, the captain of the Time Bandit (featured on Discovery Channel's Deadliest Catch), and crew. Yes, I realize how ridiculous that last sentence sounds, and how random my life is.

drew and tucker

I left the parking lot and noticed my car was riding low. I was riding dirty, all the way to 6th Street where we realized I had a rapidly deflating tire. With no spare, the boys couldn’t do anything except call AAA. And all they could do was tow me to the closest tire place that had the special tires my little ragtop required.

The next morning when I went to retrieve my dream machine from the car hospital, I asked the guy at the desk to have them triple check the lug nuts because one time at a Tire Kingdom a guy failed to tighten them and my tire fell off. Paranoid, I now have to confirm that everyone that touches my car passed lugnut day in tire college.

After I paid too much for some foreign vehicle tire, the mechanic Pedro handed me my keys. He assured me that he triple-checked my lugnuts and even changed my taillight for me just for the heck of it. Then he offered to top off all my fluids.

Do gentlemen still exist, in Texas … or is he just a horny mechanic?

I thanked him profusely while I allowed him to gussy up my car out of the kindness of his heart (or penis). I promised him my patronage for all my car needs in Austin, and then I hit the road for Dallas (this was Super Bowl weekend).

I was halfway there when my phone rang with an unlisted 512 number flashing on the screen.

“Hey, it’s Pedro, from Firestone.”

He must have gotten my number from my paperwork.

“I just wanted to call and make sure your tire didn’t fall off.”

This made me smile. It was cute and sweet. And to be honest, I was a distressed damsel in a foreign city and appreciated having someone looking out for me.

“Tire is still intact and I'm still trucking along,” I said, under my laughter.

“Great. Just wanted to check on you.”

Maybe these Texas guys really are all gentlemen. I need to move here.

“And ... I was wondering if I could Facebook you.”

Or not.

The conversation got awkward when I had to explain to him that he had to “like me” because my Facebook page is maxed out, while thinking how much I resent Mark Zuckerberg for making me sound like a snobby bitch … and for inventing a way for guys to date without having to date.

So, is this how men are suppose to court a woman now … via Facebook? Is Facebook just another form of Match.com and eHarmony?

Call me old-fashioned, but I don't get the concept of getting to know someone over the Internet.

About 10 minutes later, he texted me: “I can’t find you, can you add me (insert e-mail address).”

So to make his game even worse, he texted me, knowing I was driving — and then wanted me to do all the work. Flag on the play! Besides, isn't hacking into an account system to get a customer's cell phone number and calling them to ask to Facebook them against employee policy?!

… Don’t do that guys.

So, what have we learned?

Asking to Facebook her: bad. Asking her to dinner: good.

Stealing her number off paperwork: bad. Asking her for her number and permission to call her: good.

And don't do this either ...

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