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Too Many Sprites Will Make You Giddy!

, , , | Legal | October 4, 2021

I am seventeen, working as a sacker and trash collector for a grocery store. It’s around 11:00 on a Friday night, and I am on my way home. It has been a long week and a long night. I still have homework to do. As I pass a street light I glance over at the passenger seat: NO school books. I panic and pull into the first parking lot with lights and search my car. Still no books.

I live twenty minutes out of town and am halfway home. As I am still not eighteen, I will cause my parents to be slightly miffed that I am late. I am thinking about this as I head back toward work. I miss my turn off the road I am on and make a three-point turn to head back to the intersection.

As I am getting there, a car approaching from the other side stops at the intersection. I am slightly confused. I look down to check that I do indeed have my blinker on. I do, so I flash my lights to let them know they can continue through. They flash theirs back and then they sit there. After about twenty seconds, I am like, “Look, I am running late and I do not have time for this,” and turn.

I get up to around thirty when the car — which turns out to be a police car — turns on his lights to pull me over.

Officer: “Where are you heading tonight?”

Me: “Back to work. I forgot my books in the locker.”

Officer: “Where do you work?”

I look down. I am wearing the company hat, the company vest, and, of all things, a name tag with the company name. When I look up, I say the name kind of slowly, as I seem to be dealing with someone who cannot read.

Officer: “What have you had to drink tonight?”

This is my senior year, last time I was at a party with beer was my freshman year. I fell asleep with my legs on the cooler, as then I could tell who was sober enough to drive me home, and I was never invited to another party. I was, however, offered money to drink as I was thought of as a bit crazy anyway and they wanted to see what I would do to me. I answer the only way a kid that has never had a problem with cops or drinking can.

Me: “I had a Sprite around ten.” 

Officer: *Long pause* “Are you trying to be smart with me, son?”

Me: “Smart with you? You asked what I had to drink tonight. I told you. Now, I am late getting home and need to get my books. As I have not done anything wrong — I wasn’t speeding, and I know my turn signal was on and you signaled me to turn — is there something else I can help you with?”

After running my license, he sent me on my way.

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Creating A Battery Of Issues

, , , , | Friendly | September 25, 2021

I am standing by my car on the road, with the bonnet open. A man walks past.

Man: “Doing some work to your car?”

Me: “It’s getting scrapped tomorrow, but I want the battery out. It’s nearly new. I’ll flog it on eBay.”

Man: “You would get some good money for those wheels, too.”

Me: “Maybe, but the recovery truck will be a bit confused about how to lift it, then!”

He walks on. I remove the battery in two minutes and let the hood drop. I just need to lock the car. I insert the key in the driver’s door… and it won’t turn. I try the handle. It won’t open, either.

It dawns on me that the car needs the power from the battery to operate the lock. How is the car going to be winched onto the recovery truck if the recoverer can’t get inside it to steer? I can almost hear Laurel and Hardy shouting, “Here’s another fine mess you’ve got me into!” I phone my father for advice.

Me: “He’s going to have a tough time recovering the car. Oh, there’s something else inside the car he needs: a parking brake!”

Dad: “To put the battery back in, you’ll need to open the bonnet. Where is the open bonnet switch?”

Me: “Passenger footwell.”

Dad: “Which is where?”

Me: “Inside the car. Oh, crap. I can’t steer, set the parking brake, or open the bonnet to put the battery back in.”

Dad: “Either deal with it in the morning, let him drag it on with the winch, or get a brick and smash the window in.”

I should have taken the man’s advice and just removed all four wheels!

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Someone This Stupid Should Not Be Behind The Wheel

, , , , , | Legal | September 22, 2021

My friend is a police officer. He and his partner are driving behind a car that isn’t doing much to attract their attention, but their onboard computer tells them that the owner’s driving licence has been suspended for multiple DUI offences.

They pull the car over for a licence check, and the young man driving explains that it is his mother’s car and she allows him to use it. That’s no problem, but just to make sure, they ask for his licence as identification.

The Provisional Licence — one step up from a Learner’s Permit — he only had for three months has been cancelled for many unpaid speeding fines.

Police Officer: “Since you are driving without a valid licence, we are impounding the vehicle.”

Young Man: “Do you have to? I need to take the car home so that my mother will have it to go to work tomorrow.”

Police Officer: *Stunned* “You want me to let you drive home tonight, without a licence, so that your mother can drive to work tomorrow, also without a licence?”

The young man apparently doesn’t see any problem with this.

Young Man: “Yes, that would be very good of you. It would save me getting told off by my mom and she wouldn’t stop me borrowing the car.”

The officer turns to his partner, who is trying to stifle a laugh.

Police Officer: “It’s not funny!”

Trying not to laugh himself, he shakes his head and turns to the young man.

Police Officer: “I think we had better take you into the station and have a long talk with you and your mother when she comes to get you.”

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Car-Free Makes Him Too Care-Free, Part 2

, , , | Legal | September 18, 2021

I’m the author of this story, and based on the reactions, I thought some of you might like this story of my dad.

This story took place a few years before the other story, when my dad had just started working at the hospital. To get to and from work, and around in general, he used a mo-ped, since he didn’t have enough money for a car yet. His daily commute would take him through an intersection with a very, VERY annoying stoplight for the bike lane. It. Would. Not. Turn. Green. At all. The intersection was a quiet one, so you can understand how frustrating it was to stand there, waiting, waiting, the minutes ticking by, while there was absolutely no other traffic around to justify the wait. Everyone who encountered that stoplight eventually gave up, looked left and right, and rode on, running the red light. No accidents ever happened, but…

Enter [Police Officer]. [Police Officer] knew about this stoplight and its annoying habit of staying red, and he knew that people would eventually get tired of waiting and run the red light. He would hide near the intersection, catch people running the red light, and fine them accordingly. Pleas that the stoplight was malfunctioning, that no-one got hurt, or that the victim really had to get to work, fell on deaf ears. They ran the red light and that is against the law, so they got fined. It was, in his eyes, a nice way to fulfil his fine-quotum. (Yes, this was a thing back then.)

Except my dad, on his illegally souped-up mo-ped, refused to stop for this guy after the first ticket and managed to escape his ticket-trap every single time because he was much faster. (My dad was, and in many ways still is, a brat with major authority issues and zero empathy who thought this all great fun. It was neither his first nor his last run-in with the law, but it was never severe enough to land him in court, except one time and that was deemed self-defence. Anyway…)

[Police Officer] was understandably very annoyed by my dad’s antics and became determined to catch him, which only made my dad more determined to escape him. He was unable to avoid that intersection. It was either too close to his home or his workplace; I can’t recall which.

One day, [Police Officer] finally managed to collar my dad and gleefully began writing him a ticket. Dad’s temper got the better of him and he ranted at [Police Officer] a bit, finishing with an insult that I think was rather inspired.

Dad: “You are a perspectiveless man in a perspectiveless job!” 

“U bent een inzichtloze man met een uitzichtloze baan!” It doesn’t translate too well.

Police Officer: “Yeah, whatever, here’s your ticket. Pay it within two weeks, or it’ll be court!”

Dad decided to be petty and wait until the very last day to pay his ticket… and it’s a good thing he did, because two days before the pay-by date, he got a nice, official letter. It stated that, because of the Royal Wedding between then-Crown-Princess Beatrix and Prince Claus, the government decided to pardon all minor traffic offences as a gift to the people. The royal house, and the wedding, were not very popular back then, so I guess they were trying to score a few points. So, because Bea got hitched, Dad didn’t have to pay his ticket. To this day, he still laughs when picturing the face of [Police Officer] when he heard about this.

That stoplight finally got fixed not long after that, and [Police Officer] had to find a new way to get his kicks. Also, just to clarify something: my dad and his coworker from the previous story were not medical staff; they worked in the hospital’s kitchen. Make of that what you will. Also, for the people wondering why my dad would tell his coworker not to insult cops when he did it himself: my dad has both zero empathy and a temper he can’t control well, so even though he knew insulting the cop would probably make things worse, he basically couldn’t help himself. And when it happened to his coworker, he just didn’t care.

Related:
Car-Free Makes Him Too Care-Free

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Mom Just Can’t Look On The Bright Side

, , , , , | Related | September 18, 2021

My mother taught me to drive. This was fine, except she always complained that I was too far over to the right. I used the oil trail in the middle of the lane as my guide to where the middle of the car should be, but that was too far to the right, so I moved over to the left just to stop her from complaining.

Me: “Is this better?”

Mom: “You’re still too close on this side.”

I got used to driving with the left side of the car about an inch away from the left side of the lane whenever she was the passenger because it was easier than listening to her complain. It was uncomfortably close, but other drivers sensibly passed me with an extra bit of clearance, so I wasn’t too put out.

This worked fine until one day when we were driving some visiting family around, and my mother was sitting in the left rear seat.

Mom: “You’re driving too close to this side.”

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