Friday, March 11, 2011

Then there was that time we almost stole a car

Last weekend my mom was in town for a visit. And as we are apt to do when ma comes to town, there was a lot of eating and drinking and chatting and various combinations of all of the above. One afternoon during her visit we decided to head into the city for some drinks and dinner. Naturally, I gave my mom and B a few options for neighborhoods and types of food, nodded my head as if listening intently and then took us directly to one of my favorite restaurants in the city so I could spend a few hours sucking down some of the best mojitos in town.

Our conversation went something like this:

Me: So what are you in the mood for? We could go to the North End for Italian. Or head downtown to grab some Thai and walk around the Common? We could always do the South End. There's this place I love there, the Beehive. Oh man, they have the BEST mojitos.

My mom: What's a mojito? Italian is always good.


My mom: Well do they even have -

Me: Absolutely, I agree. Seatbelts on everyone!

And yes, they were delicious. But what I didn't remember was that it was Restuarant Week in Boston so after a few drinks at the bar when I started to feel like my stomach was eating itself, I realized that we couldn't get a table anywhere within walking distance. So we piled back into the car and headed to Dorchester to a funky little place I discovered thanks to a friends who waitresses there. Good bar, amazing food, great prices, what more do you need in life I ask you? You had me at "good bar."

While this restaurant is nestled on a quaint little street, it should be noted that half a block in either direction things start to get a little ... fringy. And that's fine with me. I love the fringe. But it's not a very large neighborhood and it is also not uncommon to pick up the paper and read about another shooting in Dorchester.

So. Dinner was delightful. I came close to licking my plate clean. A good time was had by all, and we eventually meandered back to the car. B was fulfilling his usual role of designated driver, my mom hopped in the front seat and I slid into the back. As I went to buckle my seatbelt I noticed the pile of CDs haphazardly strewn across the back seat. This struck me as odd for a number of reasons. One, I keep very good care of my music, so it's unlikely any of my CDs would be strewn anywhere. And two, the majority of these CDs were Kid Rock albums and ummmmmm?

I froze.

Me: Oh my god ... This is not my car.

My mom: What?




At this point I was frantically shutting the door and jumping back as if the car itself was on fire. Visions of someone running from a nearby house and pumping me full of lead for trying to steal their car flashed before my eyes. People have certainly been shot for a whole lot less.


And as I am wont to do in any surprising situation, I was overcome with a slight mania and a complete inability to control my laughter. This is an ongoing challenge for me. I laugh at inopportune times. When I find myself in awkward situations. At funerals. Whenever I'm nervous. I'm the first to laugh when someone says something offensive or inappropriate -- most likely because I'm just relieved it wasn't me. I started laughing on the altar of my wedding, and the harder I tried to control it, the worse I became. Tears were streaming down my face. I was gasping for breath as my parents looked on in horror. The grimace on their faces only made me worse.

When I was in grade school, we spent our recess times playing Free Ya'll. I went to Catholic school, we didn't have budgets for rich people things like "playground equipment" or"jump ropes" or fancy schmancy "balls." So we'd either crush a soda can and play foot hockey or play Free Ya'll. In theory, I should have been awesome at Free Ya'll. I was little and I was fast. I had no problem outrunning the boys in a foot race. But without fail, at that exact moment when I was a hair's width away from either being captured or escaping -- just as the adrenaline really kicks to give most people that extra jolt of energy -- that jolt would hit my system too hard and I would be completely consumed with giddy laughter. My whole body would tingle. I couldn't breathe. I'd have to stop and sit down until I could control myself. Naturally, this was usually on my way to "jail." So yeah, you're gonna fucking suck at Free Ya'll if you're gonna laugh every goddamn time you're about to be caught.

So I'm not sure if it was the mere thought of being shot for mistaken car identity or the simple ridiculousness of being in the back seat of someone else's car or even just the idea of an entire collection of Kid Rock albums, but I was pretty much in a tizzy.

My car happened to be parked right next to the wrong car. Same make, same model, same year. It was a dark street a dimly lit street night time. Hey, it could have happened to anyone. Even someone who hadn't just put away three mojitos and half a bottle of wine with her mother. I'm just glad she was complicit in this crime so she couldn't read about it here, shake her head in disappointment and call me up to berate me for my recent drinking habits. PRETTY SURE YOUR SEAT BELT WAS ON TOO, MOM. Take THAT.


amanda said...

WHAT in the world? So, I'm hoping those people just left their car unlocked...not that your key unlocked another car? When I was younger, we discovered the key to our house also unlocked our next door neighbors' house as well.

Bridget said...

@amanda If I knew my key unlocked the door to someone else's house, I would have a really hard time not letting myself in and helping myself to leftovers. It's reasons like this that I am so popular with the neighbors.

Kater said...

This story made me laugh: all the antics, however mojito-induced. But the icing on the cake for me: poor attempts at recess games for Catholic school kids. Hello! I played hockey with rolled up rugs samples and a sock.

Heather said... it!

If it makes you feel better, I've done this too... without consuming any alcohol whatsoever... just at a wawa getting coffee and got back into someone elses car. she happened to come out of wawa just as I was realizng - "oh shit, this isnt my car!". She wasnt laughing :/ Havent been back to that wawa since!

Caitlin said...

Free Y'all? Ummm did you grow up in Tennessee or something? It's called Jailbreak.

Deidre said...

I have no idea what this game is that you speak of...

But I am fairly certain you shouldn't be left out of the house.

Mindy said...

I did this one time while leaving a bar too! Either my clicker unlocked their car (exact same make, model and color as mine)or they left their car unlocked.

How did I know it wasn't mine? No, it wasn't the male clothes strewn about, the CAR SEAT in the back OR the different interior color, it was the Monster drink in the cup holder. "Huh? I don't drink Monster...oh fuck this isn't my car!" (red bull rules, monster drools)


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