My car, Trixie, has little green caps on her tires on the spout where you'd fill them up with air. Confused and thinking that perhaps these were magical caps that change color when the tire is losing pressure - apparently those exist - we decided to ask. Trix was in for a check-up anyway, so we asked the dealership guy what the purpose of the green cap was. Turns out we were completely wrong.
The green caps mean that my tires are filled with nitrogen. NITROGEN. Say wah?
Apparently, filling your tires with nitrogen make them run cooler, so they don't over heat. Also, that's what they fill racing tires with. Confused much? Yeah me too. Especially when you know that my car is a little, first generation Toyota Prius. That is not a racing car. Maybe it helps with efficiency? I have no idea.
But green caps are not magical and change color. And no, the gas won't change the pitch of your voice if you inhale it. So much for my imagination....
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Home of the Memoir Project • two aspiring authors on a mission to record the mundane
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Showing posts with label cars. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cars. Show all posts
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Thoughts on Driving Home, Making Faces, and Hopeless Romantics
Having a car has given me a lot of freedom. Granted, I've only had it since November, but Trixie (because she reminds me of the triceratops from Toy Story 3 somehow) has fulfilled that milestone that the movies claim happens when you turn sixteen and get your license. It's the last sense of accomplishment before graduation and college. But really, getting a first car can happen at any time. The faux belief that every kid gets their first car from their parents at sixteen rarely occurs anymore.
Driving home after work is how I detox. I can sing to anything, dance like I'm in my room, and just be in my own oblivious bubble. There's the option to grab some food, hang with friends, or swing by the library and peruse the music shelves or pick up those holds. After a long day of supervising people, being cheery, and answering questions from both superiors and coworkers alike, I want and need time by myself. I don't have to feel like I've got people to entertain and make sure we're hitting our numbers. I can just be me.
Driving home after work is how I detox. I can sing to anything, dance like I'm in my room, and just be in my own oblivious bubble. There's the option to grab some food, hang with friends, or swing by the library and peruse the music shelves or pick up those holds. After a long day of supervising people, being cheery, and answering questions from both superiors and coworkers alike, I want and need time by myself. I don't have to feel like I've got people to entertain and make sure we're hitting our numbers. I can just be me.
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