At least I have never

The home of schadenfreude, where you can take comfort in the fact that no matter what your most hideously embarrassing moment was, there is always something worse that has happened to someone else and you can rest safe in the knowledge that at least you have never done that.

Monday, February 05, 2007

car wash

(I have a life long phobia of car washes. This story made me weep)

At least I have never...

Been about to go through the carwash having pressed the button etc, when suddenly I remember that I've forgotten to remove the aerial. Thinking I've got time, I jump out to remove the offending erection... only for the giant rollers to start whirring, pinning me flat against my car in a mire of foam and water as they pound their way down the sides of the car.

And then had to go on to my parents house, soaking wet and picking bubbles out of my hair along the way.

posted by zuzula @ 8:25 AM  

11 Comments:

  • At 12:18 PM, Blogger shitfaced said…

    Car wash phobia, Zu? This is the funniest story I've heard in ages!

     

  • At 2:23 AM, Blogger zuzula said…

    seriously... i am terrified of the things. i had always assumed it stemmed from some childhood trauma that i'd somehow mentally blocked out, but neither mum nor dad remember any carwash related incidents that would have scarred me!

     

  • At 4:42 AM, Blogger george said…

    That's fucking hilarious! What is that type of phobia called?

     

  • At 1:03 AM, Blogger Lucy said…

    ;-) still laughing!

     

  • At 3:20 PM, Blogger fake adult said…

    At least I've never wondered what the diabolical smell in my kitchen is. After much searching and digging, I discover a huge dead rat behind the dishwasher. Next to it are seven still-very-much-alive ratlets, or whatever baby rats are called. Instead of doing the sensible thing and killing the vermin, I find them cute and decide to raise them as pets. In a cardboard box. Hell-o!!! Rodent teeth + cardboard = Road to freedom. I present these to my overnight visitors, who are already tense due to the general hygiene levels in the house. Unbeknown to me, my guests are barely able to sleep that night, lying awake thinking about rodent teeth gnawing away at the cardboard. My guests leave the next morning, and later that day the rats escape.

    At least I've never done that. That morning I was in a speeding car getting the hell out of there.

     

  • At 3:42 PM, Blogger fake adult said…

    At least I've never been asked to mind a house for two friends, a gay couple (one of whom claims to be an 'artist'), while they are away in Vietnam for six weeks. During this time, three of my friends come to visit this city, and as I'm otherwise busy, I let them stay in the house by themselves for two nights. Unbeknown to me, the three friends go through the entire house, laughing their heads off at this particular way of 'decorating', and particularly the 'art'. Even the CDs in this house are gay. Otherwise, the three friends take every care to leave no mark of their visit, out of respect to me.

    On the last morning, while one of the three friends is still asleep, the other two decide to make a coffee. The house has one of those Italian espresso percolators, you know the stainless steel ones, where the water goes in the bottom and the coffee in the section above it, and when it boils, the water passes through the coffee into the upper section, and voila, you have coffee. If everything goes as it should; and as these two use the same thing at home, they think no more of it. If, however, the filter on top of the coffee becomes dislodged and allows the build-up of ground coffee in the narrow tube in the top section, the result can be rather different. As the coffee builds up, so does the pressure in the lower section. The two friends are watching DVDs with their back to the kitchen when a sudden sound makes both their heads turn to the kitchen. To this day, four years later, they can in their mind see a column of coffee rising out of the percolator in slow motion, hitting the ceiling and then coming at them at an angle, spraying both their faces with both liquid and ground coffee. Not just their faces, but the entire ceiling, all the walls, even the insides of the cupboards and of course the floor.

    The two wake up the third with "J, the coffee's exploded." Expecting a degree of exaggeration in those words, perhaps, a quick visit to assess ground zero confirms otherwise. The three spend nearly three hours cleaning a relatively small area, but are unable to clean the ceiling as the coffee has fully absorbed into the crappy white paint. How it missed the even crappier artwork done by the gay 'artist' in Vietnam, God only knows.

    The three friends ring me with "The percolator is faulty, it spewed boiling hot coffee everywhere but thank God nobody got hurt - that thing is dangerous. Oh, and by the way, the kitchen ceiling's fucked." After they've left, and just before the couple return from Vietnam, I spend a day painting the ceiling.

    At least I've never done that. But, I can still see that coffee coming at me.

     

  • At 3:58 PM, Blogger george said…

    At least I have never been the friend who was looking after the house of the 2 gay friends with a rather gay house, who came home after the coffee incident, pressed play on the answering machine to the music of my house guest telling one of their friends about ground zero, the machine had recorded the whole conversation....at least I haven't done that but I'd really like to know what the hell I said to F on that rather catastrophic morning.

     

  • At 1:11 PM, Blogger Tiny Tones said…

    Re rats: And so ended the annual summer jaunt to Newie. Shame really, because the beaches are lovely!

    Re infamous coffee maker incident: And what's the lesson we all learnt from this? That attack is ALWAYS the best form of defense, of course! Ah - happy days! (Remember the varnished sleeves in the frame? Art? My arse!!!)

     

  • At 1:26 PM, Blogger Tiny Tones said…

    Re carwashophobia: At least I have never spent the entire weekend tripping off my guts on acid, to be finally dressed in my pyjamas after a rather horrific shower experience - during which I looked down and was absolutely certain I now had and would always have the body of a giant baby (!!) - to then be convinced (along with the several friends who were also tripping and pyjama clad with us) by my brain-addled boyfriend that it would be a really, really, really fun and cool thing to do to take his mini to the garage and drive it through the car wash while still off our bananas. He assures us there's no reason to change out of our pyjamas because we could stay in the car while he went in and paid for it. So the 5 of us squeeze into the mini and head down to the the busiest service station in town, right on the main thoroughfare, in the middle of the day. The brain-addled boyfriend goes in and pays and then comes back out and proceeds to drive us into the car wash. Only, it's one of those car washes where you drive the front of the car up onto the trolley thingy and it moves through the car wash with the car on top of it. So as the brain-addled boyfriend drives the severely overloaded mini up to it, the front of the car catches on the trolley thingy and we can neither move forward far enough to actually get all four wheels on the trolley thingy and we can't move back to get the front two wheels off it. The only possible solution (after much revving and swearing and burning of the clutch - drawing a great deal of unnecessary attention to ourselves) is for all of us in our pyjamas and off our heads to climb out of said overloaded and much-noticed mini so the car will lift up and brain-addled boyfriend can back it out and get us the hell out of there. So, much to our complete embarrassment, we all file out and stand in the middle of the busiest service station in town, right on the main thoroughfare, in the middle of the day, in our pyjamas, acid kicking in like a bastard and all in something of a mild panic. But brain-addled boyfriend doesn't back the car out. Oh no! He drives it forward, figuring he's paid for the car wash so he might as well enjoy it, leaving the rest of us standing there in the busiest service station in town, right on the main thoroughfare, in the middle of the day, in our pyjamas, off our heads, while he takes a leisurely 5-10 minute drive through the suds. The prick. I should point out that this happened in the same city as the rat incident above - lovely beaches, but best avoided if you can help it.

     

  • At 6:29 AM, Blogger zuzula said…

    ah, these stories are brilliant. i think we need to make you both team members of this blog! i shall consult la handbag as to how this works :)

     

  • At 12:10 PM, Blogger fake adult said…

    I think you need to email an invite via Blogger. This is how Legs invited Shitfaced to post. The invitee can't change other stuff, like settings, which used to be like really complicated if Shitfaced was logged in and wanted to change something and had to log out and ask Legs to log in and do his/her/their stuff.

    I wonder where they are now.

     

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