My partner and I have invited both sets of parents over for lunch. His parents are in their eighties and have limited mobility, so they have a disabled badge in their car.

Unfortunately, the weather is appalling today — really heavy rain, and no signs of it stopping. Parking along our road is also appalling and can be a potluck as to whether you get a space. My parents, who are only in their sixties, arrive first and have to park almost on the next road over. My car is right in front of the house, parked next to a disabled space in front of my elderly neighbour’s house, and usually, my partner’s parents call when they are five minutes away so we can move cars if necessary.

They forgot to do that today. The doorbell rings, and it is [Partner’s Mum], soaking wet.

Partner’s Mum: “We had to park several houses away, so [Partner’s Dad] will be here very shortly.”

[Partner’s Dad] is still a few minutes away and walking really slowly. [Partner] grabs an umbrella and goes to help his dad while my parents and I help [Partner’s Mum]. Eventually, [Partner] and his dad get safely into the house, and he is absolutely saturated. [Partner’s Mum] has realised she forgot to call ahead and feels absolutely awful about that.

My car is still outside the house, so I decide to move it. [Partner] gets the keys from his parents and goes to get their car. I get into my car and stay put until [Partner] is here; if I move too early, someone will snag the space. I look in the mirror to see where [Partner] is and spot someone getting into the car in the disabled space and driving away.

[Elderly Neighbour] doesn’t drive anymore, but she has nurses and carers who pop in to see her, so one of them must just be leaving. Excellent! The space is available for [Partner], so I get out of my car. [Partner] arrives, spots the space, and heads straight into it. He gets out of his car, and we say how lucky this was.

Cue [Neighbour], who is walking down the road and sees us.

Neighbour: “Oi! You can’t park there! You don’t look disabled!”

Partner: “Oh, this is my elderly father’s car. I’ve just moved it for him.”

Neighbour: “My wife uses that space! You don’t look disabled!”

Now, [Partner] and I are both tall men around the forty-year mark, and yes, we don’t LOOK disabled. But of course, there are lots of invisible disabilities, and I have several myself. So, [Partner] tried explaining again that the car belonged to his elderly and disabled father, the car had a blue badge for disabled parking, and it was fine for him to park the car there, but [Neighbour] wasn’t having that. He started shouting and then stomped away in a huff. As we were getting very wet, [Partner] and I just shrugged and went back inside.

We never heard anything else, but I’m sure [Neighbour] was watching the space the entire time and probably moved his car into it as soon as my partner’s parents had gone.

I work at a salon and beauty parlor. My coworker has a regular customer who always comes to her when she needs her makeup done professionally or if she needs to test out a new look. [Coworker] always makes time for her, not just because she tips well, but also because she seems like a lovely lady and is easy conversation.

It’s getting later in the evening when the regular shows up, looking panicked. She sees [Coworker].

Regular: “Thank God you’re here! My husband told me I need to go to his work holiday party with him, but he didn’t give me any notice! Can you work your magic on me?”

Coworker: “Sure thing! Let’s get you looking like a million dollars!”

[Coworker] starts doing her thing, but half an hour later, I am aware her shift has finished.

Me: *To [Coworker]* “Would you like me to take over? I know your bus only comes once an hour.”

Regular: *Also to [Coworker]* “You take the bus? But I’ve seen you drive here.”

Coworker: “Yeah. I drove here before, but my car got totalled last year. The bus is fine, though. It’s a convenient route as I can get here on just the one bus, but it only comes once an hour so if I miss it, I have to wait.”

Regular: “I had no idea! Do you want a car?”

Coworker: “Do I… want… a what?!“

Regular: “My son graduated, and he’s not moving back. His car is just… sitting there taking up space. It’s old, but it’s in perfect condition. I’ll bring it round tomorrow. Drive it as long as you want.”

Coworker: “I can’t accept! Thank you, but that’s too generous.”

Regular: “Until you can get a new car, this one is yours. I won’t take no for an answer! Let me drive you home tonight, too! If my husband wants to tell me about his party on the same day, he can expect me to be a little late!”

And just like that, she was back the next day with her son’s old car. “Old” to her still seemed pretty new to us!

That was two years ago. and my coworker tried to give the car back to that regular, but the regular decided she liked her driveway free of her son’s car, so she sold it to [Coworker] permanently.

For a single dollar.

CONTENT WARNING: Death (Stranger found dead, removed by paramedics)
 

The temperature is in excess of 100 degrees Fahrenheit (37.8 C), very high even for the summer. The humidity is over 90%, and my car’s air conditioner is broken. This is the sort of weather people die in. I’m on my way to work. (I work the evening shift.)

I’m driving on a two-lane divided boulevard. It’s very narrow, there’s only one lane going in my direction, and I’m hedged in by high curbs and some nice bushes.

The van in front of me stops at the stoplight. I stop behind it. I wait. The light turns green. The van in front of me doesn’t move. The light turns red again. I wait. The light turns green. I start honking. The van in front of me doesn’t move. The light turns red again.

I physically cannot turn around on this road and find another route. I call the police. They arrive, and shortly thereafter, paramedics arrive.

They tell me that the person in the van is “unresponsive”, and I see the paramedics getting him out of the van. He’s a very large guy, and they’re being very slow about it. I notice them getting out a black bag for the stretcher. I suspect he’s dead.

I’m starting to feel very thirsty. My lips are dry, my eyes are dry, I’m having a headache, and I’m barely able to sweat despite the humidity and temperature. I suddenly start feeling quite bad.

Me: *To an officer* “When do you expect a tow truck to arrive to move the van?”

Officer: “It’s going to be a couple of hours; the tow company is backed up.”

Me: “Could I have a bottle of water, please? I don’t have any in my car.”

Officer: “We don’t have any, either.”

Me: “Okay. Then would it be okay if I leave my car here and go find a fast food place to wait and get some water?”

Officer: “No, that’s not okay. You need to remain with your vehicle so you can move it as soon as that van is towed. Otherwise, we’ll write you a citation.”

Me: “Then can I please sit in the back of one of your cars since my air conditioner doesn’t work? I’m feeling lightheaded and dizzy, and I’m on the edge of panic.”

No, that’s against their policy, too.

At this point, I’m having a panic attack. I bend over and throw up in my panic. The vomit has very little fluid in it — about the texture of corned beef hash.

This attracts the attention of the paramedics.

Paramedic: “How are you doing?”

I pathetically asked for some water, and they got me a bottle. Then, they called another ambulance for me.

I wound up in the emergency hooked up to saline drips for dehydration and heat sickness, and I missed work that day. The cops had my car towed, too, and I was charged a $345 tow fee. But at least I didn’t die.

After that, I started stocking bottled water in my car, and I stopped treating the AC as an optional component. Work, at least, was understanding since I brought a letter from the doctor when I next went in.

This is my favorite car accident. A snowstorm had just begun, and the roads were unplowed and slippery. I had just stopped behind a car stopped at a red light. A few seconds later, I was rear-ended — not very hard, but with the slippery snow, I was pushed into the bumper of the car in front of me.

I got out. It was dark and snowing. A teenage girl was getting out of the car that had hit me, and she looked scared. I looked at the bumper of the car in front of me, and they had gotten off without a scratch.

A middle-aged woman got out of the car I had been pushed into, and just as I opened my mouth to tell her the good news, she started a non-stop, barely coherent screaming rage at me. I won’t try to recreate it, but among many swearwords, phrases like, “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” and, “I’LL SEE THAT YOU NEVER DRIVE AGAIN IN YOUR LIFE!” were bellowed.

Meanwhile, the teen was now literally cowering behind me as this woman just laid into me.

The thing about me — and this helped me when I worked in customer service— is that I find adults throwing temper tantrums (especially unjustified ones) extremely amusing. In retail, I had to try not to laugh out loud, but I had no such restraints in this situation.

I just lost it, full-out howling, doubled-over, can’t-breathe laughing at this woman. When I finally got control of myself, she had stopped yelling and was looking at me like she wanted me dead.

Woman: “You think this is funny?”

I stepped to the side and pointed at the teen this woman had not even noticed in her rage.

Me: “I think you want to talk to the young woman who rear-ended me and pushed my car into yours?”

To say this woman’s face turned as red as a ripe tomato would be an understatement. She finally looked at her car for any damage and saw the same thing I had.

Woman: *Mumbling* “There’s no damage…”

And then, she hopped into her car and drove away, never to be seen again.

It turned out that the teen had just gotten her license and was driving her father’s car. I drove a beat-up old VW Rabbit, and I couldn’t tell the dent she’d put in the rear from any of the existing dents in that beater.

Me: “You got lucky. I don’t need to take your information or report the accident.”

Teenager: “What should I do?”

Me: “Drive the car home to your dad and tell him what happened. It’s snowing and slippery so, hopefully, he’ll take that into account. Then, he’ll decide if he wants to leave the damage, pay for it to be fixed out of pocket, or go through his insurance.”

I guess that middle-aged woman and I just have different ways of dealing with strangers who run into our cars.

And that’s my favorite accident.

One time, I turned down a one-way street. Ahead of me on the sidewalk on my left was a woman walking in the same direction I was driving. She was staring down at her phone. She started across the street in the middle of the block (i.e., jaywalking) at a shallow, diagonal angle.

By the time I got to her, she was in the middle of the street, still crossing at the shallow angle. I followed along behind her for a bit, slooowly.

Suddenly, she jumped and spun around, glaring at me. I just smiled and she finished crossing.

From her attire and name badge, it appeared she was a doctor at the nearby medical clinic.