The butthole of America

Maybe we were playing Justin Bieber too loud, but we didn't hear it at first. Then we came to a stop in Cleveland rush hour traffic, and rolled the windows down to get some air.

"Do you hear that?"
"Yeah. Is it the car behind us?"
"Uhh... (leans out window)..."
"No. That's us."
"What the hell is it?"

It was metal on metal, a scraping like ten thousand nails on an angry chalkboard. We were 9 hours into the drive, 3 hours from our destination. In the middle of fucking Ohio.

We decided to roll the windows up and pretend like it wasn't happening. It worked for a few minutes, until I noticed the car behind me flashing its brights. She pulled up alongside us on the highway and motioned for us to roll the window down.

"THERE'S SOMETHING DRAGGINGGGG!" She yelled.

I waved our gratitude and decided we couldn't ignore it any longer. We pulled off a random exit into the least shady looking gas station we could find. I put on my big girl panties and scooted under the car like I'd seen K do a hundred times.

Sure as shit, a big metal piece hung down from the belly of my trusty Focus, touching the asphalt.

We Googled a Munro Muffler in the area, and tried to contain the swear words as we drove as slowly as possible. Another lady at a stop light rolled her window down to yell a warning. At this point, it was salt in the wound.

I prepared my gameface as we walked into the lobby of the tire shop. I wasn't about to get taken advantage of in a foreign town, in the middle of godforsaken OHIO. My sister and I had dubbed it the butthole of America for a reason.

Tim was a gentleman, nothing less. He whipped my Focus up onto the lift and we cheered as he tore the metal sheeting from the bottom of my car with reckless macho abandon.

I offered him $20 to thank him, but he wouldn't take it. I was going to hug him, but my sister said don't make it weird.

And so, 45 minutes later, we were back on the road, sans a heat shield. Thank you, Tim--you saved the day. And Ohio, I hate you just a little less now.