The third time I visited the car dealership with my “tire low; add air” light lit, I was in no mood to be placated. Torture is sitting in a waiting room while other customers carry on cell phone conversations at 10,000 decibels to compensate for “30 Rock” episodes blaring from a giant TV. I don’t like sitcoms when I’m in a good mood so when told of the nail in my tire, I had a melt-down. Three visits to spot a nail? I’m reminded of why I prefer independent mechanics to dealerships. They usually spot nails the first time around.