Paint Me Selfish

, , , , | Friendly | April 25, 2019

(I’ve been best friends with two other girls since childhood. We’ve pretty much always done everything together, even when we started growing up and our personalities and interests started shifting. [Friend #1] has been saving money and building up her credit since she was old enough to get a work permit and credit card. A few days before winter break in our senior year, she gives me a call.)

Friend #1: “Hey, where are you?”

Me: “At [Friend #2]’s place, finishing up homework.”

Friend #1: “You’re together? Perfect. I’m coming over; I’ve got a surprise to show you guys.”

(Fifteen minutes later, [Friend #1] calls us outside and we find her leaning against a car we’ve never seen. It’s hers! She bought herself a used car! We, of course, start freaking out.)

Me: “Oh, my God! Do we get to ride in it?!”

Friend #1: “Naturally.”

Friend #2: “Can we decorate it? Oh! I’ve always wanted a car with fuzzy dice and a cute steering wheel cover… Oh, and painted a bright, pretty color!”

Friend #1: “Ha, paint. Nah, I’m good with how it is, and I already put a little dream catcher on the rear view.”

Friend #2: “Well, what can we do?”

Friend #1: *thinks for a moment* “You can each put a bumper sticker on the back — non-political — and a bobblehead on the dash.”

Me: “Dude! Will you take us bobblehead shopping?”

Friend #1: “Sure!”

Friend #2: “That’s it? We can’t even pick a fresh paint job?”

Friend #1: “It’s functional and reliable; I don’t need it to be pretty. Paint is expensive.”

Friend #2: “But this is going to be our ride! It should look amazing, and lame bobbleheads aren’t going to do that. It needs serious accessorizing. I say we vote on it.”

(We sometimes vote on things we’re going to do together when we can’t come to a full agreement.)

Friend #1: “Um, no? My car, my rules, my final say. Gosh, I have a car to make rules for! I feel so grown up!”

(She and I giggle, but apparently [Friend #2] isn’t amused.)

Friend #2: “That’s not fair! We’re all going to share it. We should have equal say in what goes! Right, [My Name]?”

Me: “No? What are you talking about? This is her car. She paid money for this. We’re lucky we have a best friend who can drive us around now.”

Friend #2: “We share everything because we’re best friends! How is this any different?”

Friend #1: “Fine. You want a paint job? You get to pay for it, along with [significant amount of money for us at the time].”

Friend #2: “What? Why so much?!”

Friend #1: “That’s half of what the car cost, and your price for equal ownership. Oh, plus half the insurance costs… Wait, my name is the only one on the insurance. Never mind, my veto power is absolute. No to the paint job.”

Friend #2: “This should be for all of us! I can’t believe you’re being so selfish!”

Me: “Dude.”

Friend #1: *disbelieving laugh* “I’m not the one being selfish here.”

([Friend #2] goes off on a full tantrum, complete with screaming and crying. [Friend #1] puts up with it to stall for me so I can sneak inside the house and grab my stuff. When I come back out, [Friend #2] is threatening to key the car, since [Friend #1] “doesn’t care about the paint, anyway.” [Friend #1] brings her phone, which is now in her hand at her side, up to her ear.)

Friend #1: “Hi, [Friend #2’s Dad]? You’re there? Did you hear all of that? She’s talking about my car. I just bought a car, yeah.”

(This does not help the tantrum. It does, however, freak [Friend #2] out enough that she runs screaming into the house. Once [Friend #1] finishes talking to [Friend #2]’s dad, she takes the opportunity to get us out of there. It’s total silence for a few minutes while she drives.)

Friend #1: *visibly upset* “So… want to go get gelato to celebrate my new car?”

(Not only did we get gelato — which I paid for and insisted she get multiple scoops — but as soon as winter break started, we headed off on a long weekend road trip that she’d wanted all three of us to go on. I covered half the gas, we enjoyed ourselves immensely, and we continue to enjoy ourselves to this day, while our ex-friend still needs permission to use her mom’s car whenever she wants to go anywhere alone.)

Parking And Wreck-reation

, , , , , , | Right | April 24, 2019

(I work security at a condo building. The building has several levels of parking for the residents who live there. One parking level also includes a section of guest parking. One night, a group of men and women in their late 20s or early 30s stops by the front desk.)

Guests: “Where is guest parking?”

(I point them in the direction of guest parking and continue monitoring the front desk. About a minute later, this group returns to the front desk.)

Guests: “Where is the real guest parking?”

Me: “I already showed it to you.”

Guests: “You’re lying! We parked our car in guest parking and it’s not there! Where is the real guest parking?”

(I know there is only one section of guest parking, so I know these people are confused. I decide to take a different approach.)

Me: “Who are you guys visiting?”

Guests: “[Person] in [unit].”

(I look for their host’s assigned parking spot and realize that is visible on one of the cameras in the parking ramps. I review that camera and vividly see these guests and their host getting out of a minivan several hours earlier. This is allowed in the building. Now I know that their vehicle is parked in a ramp that is different than guest parking.)

Me: “I know where your car is parked; please follow me.”

(The guests follow me to the correct parking level, and as soon as we walk from the elevator lobby into the ramp:)

Guests: “This is not where our car is parked!”

(We are at least 100 feet from the vehicle, so I tell them to just keep following me. As soon as we get to the minivan, the men respond.)

Guests: “May you have seven [women] tonight.”

(I did not respond, but I made sure they left the parking garage safely.)

Saved By Your Good Name

, , , , , | Legal | April 22, 2019

(My friends and I are driving back from a trip. It is getting late, and I don’t slow down as much as I should going through a little “blink and you’ll miss it” village. The town cop pulls me over — wearing jeans and a polo shirt with his badge embroidered on — and I compliantly hand over my license and paperwork. Less than a minute later, he walks back to the car and hands my stuff back.)

Cop: “I’m letting you off with a warning. I didn’t feel like trying to write your name on a speeding ticket.”

(My full name as printed runs 26 characters, including two first names, a middle initial, and the last name.)

At Least They Were On The Hospital Side

, , , , , , , | Legal | April 17, 2019

I grew up in a small country town that was mostly made up of farms. As a result, I learned to drive as soon as I could see over the steering wheel — sitting on my grandfather’s lap — but didn’t actually get my license until I was 21. My home town is separated by a river and, until about ten years ago, there was only one bridge. Quite often there would be an accident on the bridge, blocking the whole bridge, effectively cutting off one side of the town to the other.

Before I got my license, my best friend had her first baby. Three weeks before her due date, she and her fiance had a BBQ as a last hurrah before the baby came. As I was working late, by the time I got there, everyone but the mum-to-be was well over the legal driving limit. About 20 minutes after I arrived, my friend’s water broke and the contractions were coming hard and fast — she’d been suffering Braxton Hicks Contractions for about a month so when labour actually started she didn’t realise.

We called an ambulance, only to find that an accident had shut the bridge down and all three of the ambulances in town were stuck over on the other side. As we were on the same side of town as the hospital, I decided to drive her the kilometre and a half to it. I managed to get her, the father, and my boyfriend into her car and race to the hospital. With about one kilometre to go a police car pulled up behind me and put its lights and sirens on. I ignored the cops and kept going.

I pulled up in front of the emergency department and got out, only to face two pissed-off officers. I ignored them as I send the father in to get help and, without looking at the officers, opened the back door to get my friend.

As I did this, I said to the cops, “Look. No, I don’t have a license. Yes, I was speeding, but the bridge is closed, there are no ambulances on this side, and she’s having a baby. Everyone else is drunk; I’m sober. You can arrest me once she’s taken care of.”

Another contraction hit my friend and both the male officers went pale. Doctors and nurses came rushing out and managed to get her inside.

One cop said to me, “We’ll give you a warning due to the circumstances, but you need to get your license. We hope everything’s okay with the baby.”

My friend didn’t even make it to the maternity ward, and not even ten minutes later, she delivered a happy, healthy baby boy. I got my license the next week.

The Title Writer Had To Go Calm Down After Reading This One

, , , , , , | Related | April 17, 2019

(My sister and her husband live in Houston. The only way for us or her in-laws to get there in a reasonable amount of time is by taking the interstate. This interstate is mostly two lanes each way and has a speed limit of 75 mph, though etiquette is to go 80 to 85. Even the small-town cops generally won’t pull people over for going less than 10 over. It’s also considered rude to drive in the left lane if you’re not passing someone or at least going fairly fast, and there are signs everywhere saying, “Left lane for passing only.” Pretty much everyone who’s driven on that road more than once knows this, especially life-long residents like my family and my sister’s in-laws. At one point, we are all hanging out and the topic of the drive there comes up, and my sister’s mother-in-law drops this gem:)

Sister’s MIL: “With all the people entering and exiting the highway, I just go 60 and drive in the left lane.”

(I almost called her out on it but didn’t want to start drama when she obviously didn’t care about how her behavior was affecting other drivers. She isn’t even some little old, “Driving Miss Daisy” type; she’s only in her 50s.)

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