I have the worst luck when getting my car inspected. I dread this annual task like the plague. At least with the plague you can lie down and die quietly. Inspections force you to do something, typically when I would much rather be doing nothing.
My car, and by extension myself, has been rejected three times in the last seventeen years. Not a bad record, but not great either. The first two times I failed the emissions test. This time my tires were worn. Yes Dad, you were right, and I'll state it here for all the world to see. Those tires are bald, and they are dangerous to drive on. But hey, I like living on the edge.
Actually, I don't like living on the edge at all. What I am going to do is slap the snows on and get the car re-inspected next month. I'll get new tires for the car mail-order and have them mounted and ready to be put onto the car in the spring.
I really dislike the whole car inspection ritual. Not so much the inspection itself, but the act of having to find "the guy", and figuring out where to park while waiting, and having to wait. Also, as the inevitable month end deadline looms closer, I still manage to find excuses to put it off for just a little longer, until I am desperately looking for an inspection station (which are becoming increasingly rare) on the last day.
So, if you see a red Miata careening out of control across your lane in the next week or so, give me a hearty wave. And call me a tow truck - I'll probably need it.
You can respond to my ranting here.
Where the rubber meets the rant.