Guy pulls into a garage with his flat left-rear tire in his trunk and his "donut" spare nearly flat barely keeping his car rolling. A shaven-headed, goateed mechanic beckons him to an open bay, then jumps out with the flat-repair kit and the pneumatic thingy that removes lugnuts. (Hey, if the guy in question knew what that thingy was really called, he wouldn't be taking his car to a freakin' garage, now would he? So shut up.) The mechanic removes the offending drywall screw from the tire, patches it, then removes the donut (using the thingy, which makes that high-pitch whining noise, evoking the pits at Talladega), inflates it, and sets it aside. He then replaces the patched tire (more thingy noises), inflates it, then even puts the donut back in the guy's trunk. Guy says, "How much?" "Five bucks," the mechanic says.
"I don't have any cash," the guy says, pulling out his credit card.
"Ah, forget it," says the mechanic, waving his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it."
Dumbfounded, the guy stammers, "Thanks, man," and drives off.
And that, dear readers, is how a garage wins Best Of two years in a row.
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