Truth Is (Sometimes) Funnier Than Fiction Friday

I’m posting this today because frankly I was too lazy to find an appropriate excerpt and because sometimes truth is (sometimes) funnier than fiction.

This story, posted with my father’s permission, is further proof that I’m not adopted.

But you need to know a little about my father first. And my family, in that if you are unlucky enough to do something embarrassing, and brave (or stupid) enough to share what happened, you will be teased about it from now until the end of time. Anyway. My father has a habit of leaving things on top of his car and driving away, causing said item to go bouncing along the road after him. Coffee cups, books, and once, famously, his briefcase, which emerged dented slightly from the car that ran it over but with the contents mostly intact. And probably other things that he was too embarrassed to tell anyone about.

Over the years I, like many commuters, had developed the habit of putting things on top of my car (since I often had so many things to put in the car, some had to wait their turn, and the handiest staging area was the roof). Usually the last thing to go was my coffee. I probably had the only car with coffee rings on the roof. But, thinking of Dad, I always grabbed the coffee and checked the roof before taking off. I made doubly sure to check that I had all my possessions inside if I was traveling with another family member.

Now, with my current condition, I need both hands to get in and out of my car, so I’m extra-vigilant about any coffee cups, water bottles, etc. that I might have left up there. The drill is: put the bottle on the roof just behind the antenna, get the body in the car, grab the bottle and go.

Yesterday, I went northward to Catskill to get my monthly massage. Catskill is basically a small city with two main drags intersecting at its center. The massage therapist is a little outside of town, but the Thai place (you might have noted what I said about Thai food in the “50 things you might not have known about me” blog entry) is located right about city center. Freshly stretched and relaxed, I drove into town, ordered the food, and had about fifteen minutes to kill, but it was a beautiful afternoon, I felt great, and there are a few fun stores on that block to poke around in. But first, I remembered that I was supposed to drink as much water as I could after a massage. The deli next door didn’t have any bottled water, so I got seltzer instead (cranberry with lime, which is really good, and hard to find, and I was doubly impressed when the knot of teenagers who were at the counter buying their gum and Slim Jims and Fritos let me go ahead of them). Then I took a little stroll, enjoying the warm spring air and sun and the nice qualities it brings out in people. When I came back and got the food, I still had about half a bottle of seltzer left. I put the takeout in the trunk and the bottle on the roof of the car.

When I started pulling out of my parking space, I heard a big clunk. Oh, crap, I thought. I was driving my mother’s car and hoped to hell nothing had happened to it. I was even afraid of getting it dirty. I looked behind me and saw nothing. Then I pulled into traffic and heard the clunk again. My stomach clutched. But in the side view mirror I saw the bottle of seltzer rolling away, then a few cars kicking it around. I hauled my car into the next space I saw so I could retrieve the bottle. But the traffic was so heavy it didn’t look safe. Next thing I saw was the big tire of a Pepsi truck smashing my bottle flat, crunching the plastic into bitty pieces. Splashing seltzer all over my car.

Damn, I thought, as I surveyed to wreckage the truck left in its wake. And I’d really been enjoying that seltzer, too. And in a way, since all those guys had let me go ahead of them, it had also reaffirmed my faith in humanity.

Well, at least the spray wouldn’t leave a stain on the car. Although I should have used it to clean the coffee rings off the roof.