For Superman, it's Lex Luthor. For Batman, the Joker. For Chris Webber, the game clock. For Roger Clemens, it may or may not be his penis.
It took me over 33 years, but I've finally discovered mine.
Tires.
I've had three tires go flat on me in the last two years on two different cars.
The latest was Saturday. I'm pulling out of my apartment complex to go to work, and I round a corner and bump something, but I don't think anything of it. A couple miles later, a dashboard light comes on and I feel the car starting to slow down. So I pull into the local repair shop - which, irony of ironies, happens to be closed and would have been open two hours earlier - and take a look.
The right front tire, which I thought I'd bumped, was fine. It was the right rear tire that I would later discover had a hole punched in the side. So I go to take the hubcap off so I can put the spare on, and I swear the lugnuts were fused to the wheels at the molecular level. I mean, I admit to not being the strongest guy out there, but this was ridiculous. So that took 30 minutes.
A couple days later, I go back to get it looked at and possibly replaced. I say "possibly" because they didn't have one in stock. I'm not sure how a tire place doesn't have the tire you need. It's a little like an Italian restaurant running out of mozzarella sticks. Which has also happened to me. So I had to drive around on the donut spare for an extra day.
Tires, man... tires. I need something to combat this evil in my life. Perhaps one of these:
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