I was driving from DC to Maine. I hadn’t gone this route for years, and wasn’t used to the new toll booths. It used to be situated so that you had to go through a toll lane and either pay $0.35 by tossing the coins into a basket-feeder, or through a lane with a sensor for an E-ZPass. The new arrangement had all the cash lanes separated from the E-ZPass lanes, the latter of which no longer had narrow booth lanes.

So at the first toll plaza, I was too far to the left and drove through an E-ZPass lane. I didn’t think much of it, but then I made sure to stay far right for the remaining tolls before I got to New York.

About a month later, I got a bill from the New Jersey Turnpike Authority. (They’d ID’d me by my license plate from Virginia). Fair cop, so I expected to pay the toll and a penalty for not paying the toll initially.

No, I was only billed for the toll: $0.35. They instructed me to send a check or money order (no cash) via the pre-addressed postage-paid envelope. Since money orders cost 50 cents, I wrote a check for “Zero and 35/100 dollars” and mailed it.

So, to get their toll, they had to spend about a whole dollar in postage. It was nice that they didn’t penalize me, but it would’ve been cheaper for them to just forget it.

I have my phone set to metric units despite living in the USA. I had swapped units while living in China for a year, and decided to keep it like this so I can use it as a mental exercise by converting between metric and US standard. 

I am visiting my parents from out of state, and we are going out as a family. I don’t drink, so I am the designated driver for my parents, and we are in my car. I have the location we are meeting my sister in my GPS. My dad is in the front and doesn’t mind my phone’s settings. However, my mom is in the back seat and is always really annoyed by my phone spouting kilometers and Celsius for some reason.

Apple Car Play: “Left turn in 4.8km.”

Mom: “I don’t know what 4.8 kilometers is. Switch it to miles.”

Me: “It’s a little under three miles. Just multiply by 0.6.”

Mom: “I don’t want to multiply by 0.6, I want miles!”

Me: “Hey! My car! My phone! My system of measurement!”

Mom: *Grumbles in imperial units.*

The first time I delivered pizza during a heavy snowstorm, I was really in my element. I grew up in Colorado, so icy driving conditions were a focus of driving education. But my coworkers were mostly Southerners and weren’t used to heavy snow.

As I was driving, I wouldn’t go faster than 30 MPH. And if a particular curve in the road looked more hazardous, I would take my foot off the gas and just let the idle speed of my engine power me through, usually at 10-15 MPH.

At the end of the night, I had great tips since I was able to get to customers’ homes in good time. As I was getting ready to check out for the evening, I saw another dejected driver (DD) in the staff training room. I struck up a conversation with him.

Me: “Hey, [DD], what’s wrong?”

DD: “I skidded off the curve on Old Mill Road and nearly fell into the creek. And there aren’t any tow trucks available. They’re all busy with other accidents all over.”

Me: “Ooh, that sucks. Hope your car isn’t too damaged.”

DD: “Y’know the worst part. As I was climbing out of my car, I looked up at the road and saw you coming straight at me. I was bracing for you to skid off, too, but then you turned along the curve super-slow and kept on going. Man, where’d you learn to drive in this stuff?”

Me: “Colorado. It’s almost a requirement to get a license there.”

CONTENT WARNING: Cancer

Our aunt has always seen herself as “the most important member of the family”. She’s the oldest child, and since grandma passed, she figured that made her the head of the family.

She calls my mom while I’m driving her to a hospital appointment. She puts the call on speakerphone.

Aunt: “Well?!”

Mom: “Hi, hi sis. Well… what?”

Aunt: “Don’t you know what day it is?!”

Mom: “Uh… Tuesday?”

Aunt: “It’s my birthday!”

Mom: “Oh, is today the 18^th?! I’m sorry, I forgot.”

Aunt: “Being forgetful is not an excuse!”

Mom: “Yes, but going through chemo is a good excuse for being forgetful.”

There is a long, tense silence.

Aunt: “Well… just send a card when you have time or something.” *Click.*

I got her the cheapest-a** card from a small store in the hospital while my mom did her chemo. I wrote in it for her, saying, “So sorry my chemotherapy appointment coincided with your birthday!”.

Mom is now almost through her remission, Aunty never bothered her for a birthday card again, and we’re expecting instead to have a cancer-free birthday celebration for my mom in a few months!

I hate spiders.

When my son was about four, we were riding in the car, and I heard his voice pipe up with:

Son: “Mom! There’s a spider on your shoulder!”

I naturally freak out and wriggle around trying to brush it off.

Me: “Is it gone?”

Son: “Yeah, I don’t see it”.

A few minutes later, he breaks the silence again by saying:

Son: “Oh, he was getting a friend.”