Episode 40: Gas Station: Checking Tire Pressure (PSI) & Fluids — 5,000 Core English Words

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Chapter forty. Getting the car ready.

The baby could come any day now. Ryan has one aim this week: when the moment arrives, nothing must go wrong with the car. So on Sunday morning, while Emma rests, he drives to the gas station with a notebook, a list, and a baby seat still in its box.

Listen to how to buy gas at the pump, how to ask for assistance with the tires, and to a man who is trying very hard to stay calm.

Ryan stops at pump number three. The screen on the pump lights up and speaks to him.

Welcome. Please insert your card. Remove card quickly. Is this a debit card? Press yes or no. Please enter your ZIP code. Would you like a car wash today? Press yes or no. Please select your fuel grade, and lift the handle to begin.

Ryan: No car wash. Regular. Here we go.

The numbers on the screen climb. Twelve gallons. A total of forty-one dollars and sixty cents. "Would you like a receipt? Press yes or no."

Ryan: Yes. Always yes.

But the receipt does not come out. The screen says: "Receipt error. Please see cashier." Ryan goes inside.

Clerk: Morning. What can I do for you?

Ryan: Hi. I just filled up on pump number three, but it didn't print a receipt.

Clerk: Pump three. It does that. One second. Here you go. Forty-one sixty. Anything else?

Ryan: Yes, actually. My tire pressure light came on this morning. Is there someone who could give me a hand? I'm not sure how to check it.

Clerk: Sure. The air machine's on the side of the building. I'll come out and show you. It's quiet right now.

Clerk: Okay. First, you need to know the right number. Open the driver's door. See that sticker on the frame? It specifies the pressure for the front and the rear.

Ryan: It says thirty-five. Thirty-five what?

Clerk: PSI. Pounds per square inch. Now, unscrew the little cap on the tire. Put it in your pocket, or you'll lose it. Press the hose on firmly, at a straight angle.

Ryan: It's making a noise.

Clerk: That's air getting out. Press harder. There. The display shows twenty-eight. That's low. Set the machine to thirty-five, and it stops automatically.

Ryan: It's going up. Thirty-two. Thirty-five. It beeped.

Clerk: That's it. Do the other three, and the light should go off after a few minutes of driving. If it comes back, you may have a nail in there, and you'll want a tire shop.

Ryan: Is that tire damaged? It looks a little worn on the outside.

Clerk: Let me see. No, that's fine. You've got plenty left. Remarkably good, for the age of the car.

Ryan: Thank you. Honestly, thank you. My wife is having a baby this week, and I'm checking everything twice.

Clerk: Then check your oil too, and your lights. And keep the tank above half. You don't want to stop for gas at three in the morning.

Ryan: That's exactly what I wrote in my notebook. Rule one: never below half.

Clerk: You'll be fine. Everybody gets there. Congratulations.

In the parking lot, Ryan opens the box. Inside there is a baby seat, a base, and a booklet with a diagram.

Ryan: Okay. I can do this. I built a crib. The diagram says: place the base on the back seat. Attach the two metal hooks to the bars between the cushions. Pull the strap until the base does not move. Check the angle. The indicator should be in the green zone.

He pushes. He pulls. The base moves. He tries again, backwards, and it moves again. He reads the diagram a third time, and says something bitterly under his breath.

Mechanic: Need some help with that?

Ryan: Is it that apparent?

Mechanic: I work next door, at the tire shop. I've got three kids. I've installed about ten of those. Put your knee on the base. Lean your whole weight on it. Now pull the strap.

Ryan: Oh. It clicked.

Mechanic: Now try to move it. Side to side.

Ryan: It doesn't move at all.

Mechanic: That's the test. Less than an inch. Is the indicator green?

Ryan: Green. Literally in the middle.

Mechanic: Then you're done. The seat clicks into the base, facing the rear. Listen for the click, every time. And the fire station on Mill Street will check it for free, if you want a second opinion.

Ryan: I didn't know that. That's delightful news. Thank you.

Mechanic: No problem. Deep breaths, Dad.

Ryan sits in the driver's seat, and his phone rings. It is Simon.

Simon: Hey. Sorry to call on a Sunday. Do you have two minutes?

Ryan: Two. I'm at a gas station, bonding with a car seat.

Simon: It's concerning your leave. I'm compiling the handover notes, and I can't get access to the customer database. It asks for a password I don't have.

Ryan: It's in the shared storage, in the folder called "archive." There's a file with all the info. The format is old, but it opens.

Simon: Found it. And the bug in the transaction module? The one that made the site crash on Thursday?

Ryan: Fixed. It was an input problem. Somebody tried to upload an attachment that was too big, and it infected the whole thread with errors. I added a limit. If it happens again, you can undo the change with one command. I wrote it down.

Simon: You're remarkably organized for a man who's about to stop sleeping.

Ryan: I'm concentrating on details so I don't have to think about the big thing. It's my mode.

Simon: Understood. Last question. The client wants the new panel to be more interactive. Sophisticated imagery, audio, the whole thing. Like a gaming site. Do we say yes?

Ryan: Say "later." It's nonsense for a mining company. They need output, not a rocket. Tell them we'll integrate it in the next revision.

Simon: Done. Go home. Delete my number for three weeks.

Ryan: Never. But I'm turning the signal off. Don't broadcast anything to me.

Simon: Good luck, Ryan. Really. Tell Emma we're thinking of her.

Before he goes home, Ryan does one more thing. He drives from his front door to the hospital, exactly as he will on the day, and he times it.

Ryan: Left on Harbor Lane. Right at the railway bridge. Straight past the electronics store with the big banner. Twelve minutes with no traffic. With traffic, twenty.

At the hospital, he finds the entrance for maternity. He notes where to park, and where the reception desk is. He writes it all down.

Emma: Where have you been? You were gone for two hours.

Ryan: Gas. Tires. The seat is in. And I drove to the hospital and back. Twelve minutes. The entrance is on the east side. Parking is free for the first hour.

Emma: You did a practice drive.

Ryan: I did an exploration. I don't want any shocking surprises at night. I also converted the notes into a list. It's on the fridge.

Emma: Ryan, that's the sweetest, most over-prepared thing I've ever heard.

Ryan: It was that or stay home and walk in circles. My calmness is artificial. It's ninety percent list.

Emma: And the other ten percent?

Ryan: Bravery. A very thin layer. Don't press on it.

Emma: I won't. Come here. Your lip is shaking.

Ryan: It's the chemistry of becoming a father. I read about it. There's a national poll, too. Seventy percent of fathers do a practice drive. Whereas the other thirty percent get lost.

Emma: You made that up.

Ryan: I did. But it sounds right. My identity is a man who reads the content of every diagram.

Emma: I love that man. Did you eat?

Ryan: No. My consumption today has been coffee and fear.

Emma: Then sit. I'll make eggs. The folding chair is in the garden. It's the last quiet Sunday we'll have.

Ryan: Don't say that. I've only just reached concentration.

Emma: A disappointing truth, but a true one. Anti-panic rule: eat first.

Ryan: My employer could learn from you. Economics, election results, the hardware in my office, a disc that won't reproduce a single photo, a radar that sees nothing. None of it matters today.

Emma: No. Only the cutting of toast. Sit down. My intention is to feed you until you stop talking about tonnes of things that pollute your head.

Ryan: The performer is tired. The receiver is off. I'll install myself in that chair and enable nothing.

Emma: Good domain. Stay in it. And edit that list on the fridge. It says "programming" under "things to bring."

Ryan: That's a mistake. It should say "pajamas." I was thinking about work.

Emma: A gamer would bring both.

That is the end of chapter forty. A full tank, four good tires, a baby seat that does not move, and a road that takes twelve minutes.

Keep these with you: "It didn't print a receipt." "Could you give me a hand?" "What should the pressure be?" "Need some help with that?" "It clicked."

In the next chapter, at two in the morning, Emma touches Ryan's shoulder and says three words. "I think it's time."

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