That dreaded, rhythmic "tik, tik, tik"

Now that's a flat!

For the third time in as many years, I got a flat - this time, while parked at the dance studio I frequent. Driving away after dance class with my windows down, I heard the dreaded rhythmic "tik, tik, tik" of a possible nail in the tire. I parked and examined my tires. Lo and behold - there was the nail. And though I knew precisely what to do, and precisely what not to do (i.e., do not remove nail), I did what is ingrained: I called my dad... who told me precisely what to do and precisely what not to do ("do not remove nail"). (I know, I know.) 

Next, I called the tow company which promised to send someone within an hour and a half to change the tire. 

With time to kill, I meandered into a supermarket. Five minutes into my shopping, I got a call. 

"Where are you? Meet me at your car."
I met the guy at my car.
"You call this a puncture*?" he asked.
"Do you see the nail?" I countered.
"Yeah, but it's not flat," he said.
"It happened one or two hours ago and I don't want it to get flat," I replied.
Three minutes later, the tire changed, I went back to my shopping.

Today, I went to get the flat repaired. The guy took it, brought it back and said: "You didn't have a puncture." 

"It was a tack."
A tack! 
I feel so stupid right now. 

* "Puncture": originally a British expression meaning "flat tire", adopted by Israelis and pronounced "pan-cher"