(I had stopped doing anything religious when I was about 14, and some 10 years later something happened that made me an open atheist. The below is my detailing of that day, shared via email to family and friends)

I decided last night to get to bed about 3 hours before I usually do, just so I could wake up early enough to make lunch for today and get to work earlier, as I’ve got a shit load to do. I wake up a little later than hoped, but not to worry as it is still far earlier than normal.

The wife heads off to work earlier than me, because she has farther to travel. However, today she calls me on the house phone from her mobile after she has already left for work. She just wanted to let me know that she has taken my car today, because her car has a flat tyre.

Hmm, not to worry I will just take it to the servo and pump it up, be on my way to work.

So I go down to the bottom level of our car park, where the Mazda is kept, and I am greeted by an empty car space. I guess she didn’t realise the tyre was flat until she got to the top level – no dramas.

So I go up the extra few levels and find the car. Immediately I can see which tyre is the problem – it’s not so much down a little on air as it is sitting on the rim. That is a grade A puncture. So I guess I better change this tyre before I go to work today.

I also notice that it is parked in the least lit place possible. There is only one object hampering access, a giant cement pylon, which is handily only impeding access to the one wheel I wish to access.

The last time I changed a tyre was when I was 17. I’ve obviously never changed a tyre on this car, so lets find out what tools we have for the job.

Luckily, we had a brand new spare in the boot as The Wife had another puncture about 4 months ago and we have since got the spare replaced. I find the jack, but I can not make it budge – and I can’t see a thing with the light in the boot obscured by the spare cover. Eventually I pull out the carpet and the wheel cover, so now I have the bright light of the 2.5 watt globe sitting in the boot. I shouldn’t complain, at least it was light.

Eventually I figure out that the jack must be screwed in. I get this out, and then perform a similar operation on the spare tyre using a spanner I found in a little tool pouch near the jack. Ok, luckily I also find a picnic blanket in the back of the car so I can put that down on the concrete and not get my work clothes too dirty.

I crawl down and jack the car up properly (at least I think it was properly), and get to work. I find what I believe is the tyre iron, and try to unscrew the nuts. They just won’t budge. I try pushing harder, pulling harder, and keep reciting in my mind “lefty loosey”. Confident that I do know my left from my right, I decide to try using my foot. I push down as hard as I can, until the pointy end of the tyre iron actually penetrates the sole of my show. I pull it out and try standing on the tyre iron. It won’t budge. I try jumping slightly while standing on it, and it moves about 2 degrees in the correct way. After that, it was a lot easier to get the nuts off. I had to jump on the tyre iron to get each of the nuts off.

So finally I get the punctured tyre off – and now I see the head of a text screw sitting proudly on the bottom of this once inflated tyre. I put the spare in without much more trouble – when I get a call from Serena asking if I managed to find the car on the top level, and what time the NRMA expect to be there. Ha, I laugh at her lack of respect.

I pack everything away, sort of, in the boot. If you thought it was hard unscrewing a jack without any light, imagine trying to put it back in. That was a good 10 minutes right there. The busted tyre won’t screw back into the spare tyre place because of the alloy wheels – the centre part is solid so there is no way for the bolt to go through. So that is just going to sit in the space there and rattle for all I care.

And if you think I bothered to wrap up the picnic blanket back into it’s little self contained pouch, then think again.

I manage to get a look of myself in the rear vision mirror, and my face is nearly black. I presume most of this is from lying my head on the cement under the car where the blanket wouldn’t reach, or more likely from wiping the sweat from my face with my equally grubby hands. No matter, I’m off to work.

About half way to work, I remember two things. One, we are heading off to Junee tomorrow, about the same distance from Adelaide to Broken Hill (6 hour drive) so you don’t really want to do that without a spare tyre. Secondly, my little clicker to get back into the parking is sitting in my car, which by now is in a different suburb 40 minutes the opposite way I wish to travel. After a big battle and triumph like that this morning, I get to work (about 30-45 minutes later than hoped) with my hands and face black (which I consider trophies) and I decide I will just dump my things in my office and then go straight to the bathroom to clean up. Just to top it all off, not one person noticed my blackened appearance.

I have only two explanations for all this.

1 - God just hates me and has it totally in for me.

2 - There must be no God.

Either way, the end result is I have now renounced my faith. I am officially an atheist because there is either no God, or if there is He hates my guts and I don't want to support that.

TL;DR - Changed a tyre, became an atheist.

EDIT: Seriously - you think I actually base my non-belief in deities on one event like this? I'd really considered myself an atheist for 10 years before this, but it was just a funny story to share with family and friends. No one gave a shit that I "came out" as an atheist, Australia is that kind of country.