Their Driving Is Nothing To Sneeze At

, , , , , , , | Romantic | December 8, 2018

(I have PTSD from being in a severe car accident as a child that resulted in a traumatic brain injury. I am mostly recovered and normal as an adult. I prefer to have my wife drive on days when my PTSD is acting up. There’s just this one thing: when she’s driving and sneezes, she grips the wheel with a death grip, shuts her eyes tight, and shakes the wheel side-to-side, making the whole vehicle move side-to-side on the road. This is brown-pants-level terrifying for me. She thinks I’m being a baby about it. We have a dumb fight over it, and then get over it. The next week her parents are in town. Her father is driving us somewhere and he’s driving way above the speed limit. Suddenly, he sneezes, and in doing so, grips and shakes the wheel violently, which causes the vehicle to suddenly merge into a different lane.)

Wife: *with terror in her eyes* “Sorry about last week. You were right.”

Phasing Out The Bad Signs

, , , , | Related | December 6, 2018

(I am driving with my mother. A 55+ community is being built in the area, and a billboard has been beside the road for well over a year advertising the place. It shows a smiling, gray-haired couple standing beside a sample residence and includes the words, “LAST PHASE.”)

Mom: “I don’t think that’s very nice.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Mom: “Calling the place ‘Last Phase.’ That’s a terrible name for a senior community! It’s like they’re telling people they’re in the last phase of their lives!”

Me: “Mom, that’s not what it’s called.”

Mom: “It’s not?”

Me: “No!” *starting to laugh* “They mean they’re in the last phase of building!”

Mom: “Ohh!” *also laughs* “That does make more sense! I’ll have to tell [Her Cousin]; the last time he was up to visit, he said the same thing I did!”

(They’ve since changed the billboard to one that shows the name of the community in much larger letters, and doesn’t include the phrase “last phase” anywhere. I keep wondering if other people had the same idea!)

Start The Car Or Get The Girl

, , , , , , | Friendly | December 5, 2018

(When I am eighteen it is deemed necessary for me to buy a car. I buy one from a neighbor that is over twenty years old, but in good enough shape to get me back and forth to college. The car won’t start after a long day at school. My school has a driver assistance program for simple fixes. I call them, and within fifteen minutes a van pulls up. He tries to jump the car, which doesn’t work. The battery isn’t dead, so I assume the starter is having problems. I resign myself to calling a tow truck. I walk to the main entrance to wait for him. When he arrives, the tow truck he has brought is far too large to make it to the top floor of the parking garage.)

Tow Driver: “This one is too big. I’ll call my partner to bring the smaller truck.”

(While he is doing that, I notice a very pretty female student, who has gotten a flat tire in front of the garage. I offer to help. She grabs the jack and spare tire from her trunk and I go to work. My tow truck driver is now standing on the bed of his truck, screaming directions angrily into his phone for the smaller tow truck driver. It is comical, and the pretty girl and I both have a laugh. It is then that I notice that one of her lugnuts is a wheel lock, and I will need the special tool to get it off. This tool is usually kept near the spare.)

Me: “Do you have the adaptor for your wheel lock? It should be in the trunk where the rest of this was.”

Pretty Girl: “Oh, yeah. I didn’t know what that was, so I didn’t grab it.”

(She tries to open her trunk but it is locked. She goes for the drivers door… which is also locked.)

Pretty Girl: “Oh, no! I locked my keys in the car.”

(Sure enough, all the doors are locked, and the keys are on the front seat.)

Pretty Girl: “I think I am just going to call my dad; he has my spare keys and will be able to fix the tire.”

Me: “Are you sure? I would be happy to wait with you until he gets here.”

Pretty Girl: “No, that’s all right. I think your ride is here, anyway.”

(Sure enough, the second tow truck had showed up, so the two drivers and I piled in and made our way to my car. The original driver asked for my keys, sat in the driver’s seat, and tried the ignition. Nothing. He then tried again, this time mashing the gas pedal to the floor a few times, causing the car to start up with a roar like I had never heard from this car. Having never driven an older car to this point, giving it a little gas had never even occurred to me. I was on my way home five minutes later. So, to sum up, I paid over $200 to have another grown man teach me how to start my car. It wasn’t until I was halfway home that I realized my other mistake: I had been assisting a very pretty damsel in distress, and I never even thought to ask for her number.)

Driving Down Hookup Lane

, , , , , | Related | December 4, 2018

My dad loves to tell this story. Back before any of us kids were born, my parents lived in an apartment within easy walking distance of a car shop. One day, Mom had to drop the car off for repairs and decided to just hoof it back home. It was only a mile and a half, but part of the sidewalk did border a busy main road.

Mom started walking home, and noticed a car driving slowly up to her. It reached to level with her and drove alongside her, and she saw it was a man driving the vehicle. He looked at her, then sped off. Mom shook it off and kept walking.

A bit further on, a different car did the same thing: slowed down, drove up until it was level with her, drove a bit alongside her, then sped off. It was also a man driving. Now, Mom was starting to worry.

A third car, driven by a third man, did the same thing, and Mom just kept walking forward, not turning her head. The car drove away, and Mom finally got home.

When Dad came home, Mom told him about the three cars, which set Dad off laughing. He explained that the area she was walking through was a known hotspot for prostitutes. Mom, still a bit rattled, said, “But I wasn’t wearing any sexy clothes or makeup! I was sweaty and hadn’t washed my hair. How did they think I was a hooker?!”

I guess they were really desperate.

Face/Off: The Toddler Edition

, , , , , | Related | November 30, 2018

(I’m driving my three-year-old daughter home after preschool. She’s very quiet and shy, especially around other kids.)

Me: “So, did anything interesting happen at school today?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “What happened?”

Daughter: “[Other Kid] pushed me.”

Me: “[Other Kid] pushed you?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “Where?”

Daughter: “In the wood chips.”

Me: “[Other Kid] pushed you in the wood chips?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “Did you fall down?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “Are you all right?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “Did you tell a teacher?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “Was it Ms. [Teacher]?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “Okay. Did she do anything about it?”

Daughter: “Yes.”

Me: “What did she do?”

Daughter: *suddenly loud and gleeful* “She grabbed [Other Kid] and taked his face off!

(I have no idea what actually happened. My best guess is that my three-year-old was describing her fantasy vengeance instead of what the teacher really did. And the next time I saw [Other Kid], he still had a face.)

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