Adrian and I had a chat this weekend, after I called him for the 4th or 5th time saying, “OH MY GOD MY CAR IS BREAKING DOWN I DON’T WANT TO BUY A NEW ONE,” and it turned out that actually I had just put the ‘ol Jeep in 4 Wheel Low so that’s why it wouldn’t shift into a higher gear.
I really shouldn’t be allowed to drive. The evidence is piling up against me.
1. I jumped my 1974 SuperBeetle into a cornfield.
This car is the very reason I will never complain about a vehicle I drive ever again.
My stepdad, true to his plan to “toughen us up,” bought me this car–a stick shift (which, to be fair, I’m grateful I can drive now), purple, hole in the floorboards, tarantula in the trunk, wasp nest in the backseat, no heater, cracked windshield piece of shit. Ask Grace, I’m not exaggerating. I HATED that car, but it was the only car I had, and my driving history to that point didn’t exactly warrant me needing anything nicer. I cleaned it up as well as I could–extracted the creatures who called it home, peeled the Grateful Dead stickers off, put in some Zebra accents, and literally sailed into the sunrise.
One day, I was driving to school, and as teenage girls are tend to do, got distracted.
I was re-applying lipgloss, when suddenly I realized I could only see clouds. I was sailing through the air.
I had apparently run off the road and over a raised driveway large enough to send me airborne. Herbie ain’t got shit on that purple bug.
I landed hard in a cloud of dirt, both outside and thanks to the holes in the floorboards, inside. The car died, and was buried pretty well nose-down in a cornfield.
Another reason why I shouldn’t be driving? I never panicked–just laughed my ass off and drove away.
2. I can’t even control a go-cart.
One summer, my sister and I worked and worked and worked our asses off to earn a go-cart. One day, in our garage stood a lawn-mower engined, shiny white ticket to freedom.
Grace and I invented a lot of games to play, all of which consisted of us flooring it and usually putting me in mortal danger. Games like, “Hey, lean out and grab that Horny Toad while I whizz by,” and “Mrs. White made us cookies again, grab the baggie out of her hand while we whizz by.”
Grace usually drove because I was too damn short to reach the brakes. She knew this to be true, but she often let me drive by myself.
“How did she stop?” you’re wondering.
I rammed into the garage door as hard as I could. I must have done this 100 times before I finally made a dent, which was accompanied by a sonic boom and my stepdad, furious, and Grace laughing her ass of.
3. I’ll go too fast on anything.
Before we got the go-cart, we had a riding lawn mower. The Stormin’ Craftsman had 6 gears, but the Stepdad would only let us get up to third gear, at which snails would flip us off for being in the fast lane.
But he never said we couldn’t go in reverse, which ended up being about 1,000 times faster than 6th gear anyway. The summer before we got the go-cart was filled with Grace and I whipping backwards through a field as fast as that sombitch would let us, trying not to jackknife the trailer that I rode in, thus killing me.
4. If we’re in danger, I will only laugh.
Let me preface this by explaining to you that Grace has a terrible fear of Geese, because once when she was little and Ma was pregnant with me, she was chased through a park by one and Ma’s only contribution was, “RUN FASTER.”
So we were driving to school one beautiful day, and we both had our windows down. There were geese ahead of us in the road, but, as everyone knows, when you get close enough, they fly away.
Well, they all tried to fly away. One got pulled in to the windstream around us and got his head sucked in to the Driver’s side window. Miraculously, he lived, and honked FURIOUSLY in Grace’s face for about a mile. She was screaming in terror, driving all over the road (now that I think about it, it was right where I jumped my bug several years later). There were feathers and expletives all OVER that car.
And I could do nothing but laugh.
Grace was trying so hard to defend herself, but he was honking away, snapping at her hair.
So her plan was to keep driving faster all over the road, in the hopes that he would be sucked out of the window by the same force that sucked him in. It actually fucking worked and he slipped out of the window and Grace was able to stop.
I’ll never forget her face as she turned to me after the ordeal, covered in feathers and tears, shaking like a leaf.
Oh God, I’m laughing just thinking about it.
5. I’ll wreck anything you put me in.
Examples: I wrecked my first car so badly I snapped the drive shaft. Oh, also, I was 14. Unhurt and blasting Blink 182, but that little gold Honda wouldn’t even TRY to start. I wrecked my stepdad’s truck so badly he had to use a crowbar to open the doors from then on. I slammed it into our 2o foot tall front gate hard enough to knock it down and render the doors useless. In that same truck, I once hit a deer which ripped out the headlights and fucked up the transmission something awful. I totaled my Cavalier by going about 10 miles an hour.
Really, it just makes sense to leave me in the passenger’s seat.
Submissions are coming in for the Fashion Fuckaround Challenge! It’s your chance to show off how awesome you look and win a $50 Visa Gift Card, or a Corn-Nut Tiara. Submissions need to be in by January 30th–and then YOU get to pick the winner!
Submit your favorite fashion disaster pic to ohnoagavin at gmail dot com.