Today I was just, uh, tired out …

Posting this under Kids & Family is a bit of a misnomer, though Family duties comprise a wide subject area. For example, household chores fall under the Family category, right? So, in that vein, let me vent a bit.

Winter is a pain, especially when it comes to my wife’s car. My car has a good set of all-season tires that get me by well enough in snow and ice. My wife (who, by the way, is NOT Tricia Jo ) drives a car that has two sets of tires, each on its own set of rims for quick changes. One of my chores, because car stuff is a man’s chore in my house, is to make sure those tires get changed.

So here’s what happened today. I took my tires to the tire shop I regularly use. It was about 2 p.m. and I walked in, explained the situation, and asked what the chances were that the process — which, frankly, takes about 10 minutes — could be accomplished that afternoon. I said I wouldn’t mind waiting.

“Well,” I was told, “we’re closing in 45 minutes.” This was accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders. “OK,” I said. “What about tomorrow morning?” “Oh, we’re closed tomorrow,” came the reply. “Christmas Eve.” Hmmmm, I thought. I’ve explained that the tires are on rims and that it would take about 10 minutes, but … they were closing in 45 minutes? And tomorrow is Christmas Eve? Hey, Christmas Eve is in the evening, not all day long.

“We can get to you first thing Monday morning,” the guy says. “No thanks,” I said. And I walk out.

What do do then? I drive to Les Schwab, the story at the corner of 2nd and Browne. I’d bought the all-season tires for my car there the previous year, and I’d been happy with the service, the competence of the workers, and the price. So I decided to see what they could do.

Guy walks out of the office to greet me before I’m even at the door. “How can we help you?” he asks. I explain. “Are they Les Schwab tires?” he asks. I say no, thinking uh-oh and preparing to be disappointed. “I’ll have to charge you,” he says, to which I say, “No problem.” “Come on in and we’ll get you set.” He asks my name, takes my info and my keys and points me in the direction of the break room.

I’m barely seated, watching Billy Bob Thornton on the television insult kids in “Bad Santa,” when the guy calls my name. He hands me my key, mentions the charge — which was about half what I would have had to pay at the previous place — takes my credit card and hands me a receipt. That quick. Done.

Hmmmm, I think. Who will I do business with in the future? Pretty easy answer there. Certainly not the one that came off as the “Bad Santa” of Spokane tire stores.