One day I realized I needed to go to the grocery store for a couple of things. I rode down and picked them up, and since I was there I started getting other things. Things that I normally got in our bi-weekly trips to the store. Frozen foods. Canned items. Hamburger. Hamburger Helper.
You get the idea. When I checked out the cart was full of paper bags full of food. I pushed the cart outside only to realize:
“Oh crap, I rode the damn motorcycle!”
:smack:
Fortunately I knew the store manager, he kindly pushed my cart into the walk-in while I sheepishly rode home and brought back the car to pick up my groceries.
I’ve had numerous car-related episodes where I’ve forgotten:
How to pop the gas tank cover; not just remembering there’s a latch for it, but then finding it, too.
How to open the hood; not just finding the trunk release lever, but then finding the latch under the hood to lift the hood, and even having trouble remembering where the metal rod for propping it open is.
How to turn on the windshield wipers. This one stumped me for about ten minutes once. (Fortunately, I was safely parked in a lot, and didn’t get going until I figured it out.)
How to turn on the headlights, and whether I had the high beams on or not.
Upon experiencing a problem pulling my key free from the ignition column, and trying everything I could think of, only to have to call my dad (he didn’t know what the heck I was talking about), and then return to my car and keep fiddling. I finally discovered that I had to turn the steering wheel to release the key, for some reason that I still don’t understand. Now, that’s admittedly not a brain fart, since it was a learning experience. But how about when it happened to me again some time later, and I had to re-discover the steering wheel maneuver after a few desperate minutes of fiddling with things…? :smack:
(This is not really representative of me normally, though. I’m actually quite comfy with checking my oil and even changing a tire, if necessary.)
Then, there was the time I walked into a men’s restroom in college. I really needed to go, so I didn’t dawdle or pay much attention to my surroundings, although I took in enough for it to vaguely register that it was an ugly and rather strange-looking restroom, what with those weird sinks or drains or something. It wasn’t until I was washing my hands afterwards that I gave them a good look and the truth slowwwwly dawned on me. I beat a hasty retreat then. Fortunately, no one else was there with me.
Scrivener has just reminded me one of my mother’s.
I recently learned to drive in Ireland. My Dutch speaking mother has been driving in Holland for about thirty five years. We both drive stick shifts ever since we learned.
As I learned all the terminology in Ireland I didn’t know what the Dutch word for the clutch pedal was so I asked what the word was for the one that wasn’t the breaking pedal or the gas pedal. She was adamant that there was no such thing and that there were only two pedals in a stick shift car. I could not convince her otherwise until I looked up the Dutch word in a dictionary for it in a dictionary and could tell her what the third pedal was.
There are three things that I can never remember: 1. How old I am, 2. What grade I’m in, and 3. My birthday. It’s really sad, and I have no idea why. I suppose it’s because I never really think about these things, and just accept them as facts. There was this one time I went to a math prep session over the summer in order to get back into the school gear for my freshman year in high school. I had to wake up at 8:00 in the morning (not good for someone who likes to stay up till 3:00 AM) and that just made things worse. This is what happened:
Girl sitting next to me: So, how old are you?
Me: I’m, uh…let’s see here. God, I can’t remember. I’m so tired. Um…How old am I? Wow, I’m sorry, I feel so stupid. Um…
::Five minutes later::
Me: Fourteen!
Dear lord, that was embarassing. At least I never saw her again.
i keep forgetting to put the gas cap back on at the gas station…when i drive off,(it’s always placed on the roof of the car), the gas station attendant just picks it up and waits to see me in the next couple of days…needless to say, they have my undying loyalty and patronage.
One time I was reading. I don’t remember what it was. I just remember one passage where the wife says to the husband something like “You can have this crappy dish you hate that I cooked anyway or you can have dog food. Let your stomach decide.”
I asked somebody in the next room, what does decide mean?
See, I thought it might have meant “let your stomach rot from the inside out” because of the context. I mean, it looks kind of like insecticide and spermicide…
For a number of years, I drove taxi in my hometown on my days off from my regular job. I lived in rural NY state, and things were pretty spread out between destinations. So I’d be going from point A to point B, a trip I had done dozens of times before, if not hundreds, and my mind would wander as I drove…
And then I’d snap back to reality, and realize that I would have no idea of just where in the hell I was. Really - utterly lost. I’d have to slow down and look for a road sign, which could be mile or so from the last one in certain areas. Then I’d see that I was on the right route, I’d never even deviated… but I couldn’t remember where exactly I was going! I’d have to call my dispatcher and subtlely get the information out of her…
Happened more than once, too.
The Saturday before Halloween I participated in the annual Tombstone Trail event with 3 others. It’s a scavenger hunt of sorts throughout cemeteries and graveyards in a rural county of Minnesota (done with full knowledge and permission of all appropriate authorities). Questions would be like “Who is buried nearest the flagpole?” “How many children did Bob and Jane Neidermeyer have?” etc, and this year, each question was associated with a letter in a word puzzle.
The first question would have 3 answers, and the first answer might equal C, the next might equal E, and the last might be Q – you would answer as many of the questions as you can by going from graveyard to graveyard, plug in the letters, and solve the puzzle. It’s impossible to visit every graveyard and answer every question, so some deduction is necessary to solve the word puzzle. Fortunately, since you know what letters are possible for each blank space, you can try to piece it together. The initial clue to the word puzzle was “Why you may see costumed adventurers later tonight”.
Emily and Elenfair were in the back seat navigating, reading the questions, and trying to solve the puzzle while Ben and I would hunt for the answers to each question.
Emily realized that “ATGODFATHERSPIZZA” fit the last half of the word puzzle, so those two tried to figure out what would be “at Godfather’s pizza” (where the night’s festivities culminated). Elly managed to piece together “NINJATURTLES” at the start of the word puzzle, but there was still one letter left.
I looked at the puzzle. We didn’t have time to get to the graveyard that had the answer to the 12th question which would tell us what letter went in that space, but since it was multiple choice, we knew that it had to be either a P, L, or E.
“Ninja turtles … pat … Godfather’s pizza,” I said. “That doesn’t work. Ninja turtles … lat … Godfather’s pizza. No good. Ninja turtles … e-at … what the hell, e-at isn’t a word! Godda- … oh. Eat godfather’s pizza.”
I was in high school, on my first date with a cool college guy. We went to the drive-in (how old am I???). I got out of the car to make a trip to the restroom. Coming back, I got into a car, only to realize that the guy in the car was NOT my date, and duh, not in my date’s car. The guy was pretty stunned. I could see my date’s car about four cars down the row. I asked the stunned guy if I could sit in his car for a couple of minutes, so in case my date had seen me get in the wrong car I could say it was someone I knew. So we sat for a few minutes and then I got out and went to the right car. DateGuy never said a word, and yes, he did ask me out again.
Though of another one, but it’s really more of a case of not knowing any better. While in High School, I mentioned something to my dad about having a friend who had a prank pulled upon them , which they really fell for. “Yeah,” I said, “He really got myzled!” (I’m spelling it here like I was pronouncing it)
Dad looks at me. “What?”
“Myzled. Myzled. No? Myzled?”
He starts laughing. “Do you mean mis-led?”
I misread (and so mispronounced) this word for years, having never made the connection between “misled” in print, and the mis-led that I’d been hearing.
Glad to know I’m not the only one myzled by that word.
