Your Brain Is In Park

, , , , | Hopeless | October 18, 2017

I was slower than expected getting my driver’s license. One day, when I was still new to driving and didn’t have class, I had to go run some errands. I went to the bank, and my brain momentarily forgot how to park.

I ended up close to, but not actually, damaging someone’s car, and couldn’t get out of the situation. The woman in it called her husband, a truck driver, who came out and offered to help me readjust my car. I hopped out and trusted him to do so, crying and having a full-out panic attack. It was the first I ever had, and I still feel it a little sometimes when I remember what happened. I noticed the bank security guard coming out to watch the situation; he kept looking at me and smiling, nodding reassuringly but staying near his post.

The guy fixed my car’s position and then went to the security guard, asking him something I didn’t hear as I went and got everything I needed out of my car.

The couple continuously reassured me that everything was fine, not a mark on the vehicles, etcetera, and then the man led me inside, where the security guard was just bringing me a cup of water to help me calm down.

Sick To One’s Engine

, , , , , | Friendly | October 18, 2017

(I am moving six hours away from home for grad school. This involves packing up my one-bedroom apartment and moving my furniture two hours away to a relative’s house for storage, plus getting rid of my car. I talk to my sister, who amazingly offers to come down and help and get her friend to drive the moving truck, after I told her I wasn’t sure I could do it. She, her friend, and my nieces, ages two and four, drive down to help. My car gets picked up shortly after they arrive by a guy with a flatbed truck. My nieces sit on my porch, fascinated, and very concerned about where my car is going. I try to explain by saying I don’t need the car anymore and that it’s very old and run-down, but I can tell they don’t quite get it. For backstory, my sister’s friend is a mechanic and drives large diesel trucks for a living, and the girls know this. Hours later, after everything is unpacked and in storage, I am playing with my two-year-old niece in the backyard. An ambulance drives by with its sirens on. My niece stops to watch.)

Niece: “Fire truck!”

Me: “That’s an ambulance, honey. It’s taking someone who is hurt or sick to the hospital.”

Niece: “Auntie’s car! Hospital!”

Me: “Right, you saw my car get hauled away this morning.”

Niece: “Hospital. Sick.”

Me: “Uh…”

(At this point, my sister’s friend walks over to us, having heard the conversation.)

Friend: “[Nieces] were very worried about your car. They kept asking me where it went. Finally, I had to tell them that the guy took it to the hospital because it was sick, so I could fix it, just so they stopped asking me the same question over and over!”

Me: “Well, you’re not wrong, except I’d classify it as terminal!”

A Disagreement To Bring The House Down

, , , , | Romantic | October 13, 2017

Early in my marriage, it became quickly apparent that my new wife had much higher, and therefore pricier, standards when it came to residences than I did. We were both from areas with much cheaper housing than Seattle, but at that time I was the only one who seemed to allow that to re-shape my expectations of where I could live. Sometimes I’d bring up a neighborhood I’d like to live in, and she’d recoil in horror; by her standards, such places were run-down and trashy, whereas by my standards they were quite reasonable and quaint.

One day we were driving on a particular stretch of highway that had notoriously bad traffic, and I noticed that my gas gauge was precariously low. I was coming up on the last exit before I would get onto the bridge heading into Seattle, and I wasn’t confident I could make it to the city on what I had, given the traffic. So, I took the exit and started looking for a gas station in the small township outside of Seattle. My wife was admiring the nice yards and homes and said calmly, “See? This is the kind of neighborhood I could live in.”

I replied, “Honey, this is Bill Gates’s neighborhood.” I gave her a “give me a break” look.

She got the message and saw her issue. Our standards still don’t match, but the gap is considerably smaller than it was.

Look At All These “Looks!”

, , , , , | Friendly | October 10, 2017

(I’m sitting at the stoplight right next to my apartment building, waiting to turn right onto a major thoroughfare. I see a bus coming down the bus-only lane and realize I’m sticking too far out into the intersection for it to get by. I put my car in reverse to creep back, and go maybe 10 to 12 inches, and discover there was a guy sitting on my tail, and I’ve backed into him. My issue was that I was focused on getting out of the way of the bus and didn’t pay attention to what was behind me like I should have. I get out of the car to address the guy behind me, but he starts the exchange.)

Guy: *gesturing indignantly* “Wha… You… Wha… How… Do you not look?! Do you not look behind you?! How do you not look?!”

Me: “Yeah, I’m sorry about that; I was concentrating on getting out of the way of the bu—”

Guy: “I do not understand how you cannot look! Do you drive and not look?!”

Me: “Yeah, I should have looked but I didn’t. That was my error. I was too far out in front of the—”

Guy: *maintaining his flabbergasted tone* “I do not care about the bus! You are supposed to look! How do you not look behind you?!”

(At this point I look and there is ZERO damage, not even a scuff. He continues.)

Guy: “How can you drive and not look behind you?”

Me: “Yeah… I’ve acknowledged that I should have looked behind me, but—”

Guy: “I do not understand how you not look?!”

Me: “Look, there’s no damage, so… I’m just going to get going. Sorry, again.”

(I get in my car and the guy doesn’t budge, his body language doesn’t alter, and his tone of voice stays the same.)

Guy: “But how do you not look?! You need to look!”

(I drove off while he still stood there and nothing else came of it.)

Their Humor Is Fast And Moose

, , | Learning | October 3, 2017

(I am on a kayaking trip. We are learning about safety, and our instructor is sharing stories. He shares a story on how he can emit a moose call, and I am fascinated.)

Me: “Really? You can do a moose call? Can you do it right now?”

(He looks at me, then makes a big show of stretching and getting ready to emit this big call. He slowly brings his hands up to his mouth, holds them there, and then:)

Instructor: “HERE, MOOSEY MOOSEY!”

(It was hilarious, but I felt slightly embarrassed that I fell for it.)

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