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September 18, 2013 / MissSteele

Sorry I Helped Myself into Your Truck, Stranger

I don’t need anyone’s help to be embarrassed, I do a great job on my own. When it comes to mortification, I’m a card-carrying professional in my own right. I am skilled in the art of self-humiliation. No one can surpass me- well, except for that girl at the hypnotist show that time who started furiously rubbing her nipples on stage in front of a crowded room after she was “put in a trance.” Now, that was impressively uncomfortable.

Anyway, I tend to embarrass myself on the reg. Those of you who have read any of my posts know this. So, today I have decided to share another little memory I mentally pulled from my pool of misadventures and mishaps.

This story begins like any other- I tried to do something normal and I ended up in a disconcerting situation. You know, the usual. Here it goes:

My freshman year of college, I worked in a restaurant to help support my cocaine habit. I’m only kidding. I wouldn’t have been able to afford both cocaine and text books.

Anyway, one of the girls at work, Jess, asked if she could borrow my jacket so she could hide alcohol in the floorboard of her car since she was underage because she was cold. Being the generous (and humble) person that I am, I happily handed it over. A couple of days went by, and she hadn’t yet returned it, so I asked for it back one evening when I was about to leave work.

“Oh yeah!” she said as she rummaged in her purse for her keys. “It’s in my truck. I think it’s unlocked, but just in case, take my keys.”

“Okay…which one is your truck?” I asked.

“It’s the red one, over there,” she said, pointing to the right side of the parking lot.

As I ventured into the parking lot, I immediately saw the only red truck in the whole damn place. I looked around at the other cars and I thought to myself-  is that really her truck? I’m not implying that she was poor, but this particular truck looked awfully nice to be her vehicle. I pictured a single-cab 1995 Tacoma, and instead I was staring at a brand-new, shiny GMC with an extended cab and duellies.

Not what I would have pictured for her.

Not what I would have pictured for her.

“Damn,” I said to myself as I looked around the area once more to make sure there were no other red trucks. “She must be taking up shifts at the Booby Bungalow to afford this thing.” I hesitantly pulled on the handle, and to my surprise it opened just fine. Hmmm…she said it was unlocked- I thought to myself. I guess it really is her truck. 

I climbed inside the giant beast, but I saw no jacket. I started pulling things out from under the seat, hoping my jacket would be one of them. It wasn’t, but I did find a baby blanket and a pacifier. It was at that moment that I looked in the backseat only to see an infant’s car seat strapped into the truck. Suddenly, an uneasy feeling rushed over me and I thought- that’s weird…I don’t recall her having a baby. By that time, it had become painfully clear that this was not her truck. Unfortunately, I realized that a little too late.

“What are you doing?!” a burly voice echoed from behind me. If a Grizzly Bear could talk, that’s what he would sound like.

I just vacuumed that interior!

I just vacuumed that interior!

I slowly turned around to see a confused family staring at me while I sat in their truck, clasping their baby’s toys in my hands.

“Um…is this your truck?” I asked with a nervous smile.

“Yeah…what the fuck are you doing in it?!” the guy asked again.

I quickly climbed out of the truck as the terrified mother ran to the passenger door, clutching her baby, to make sure I didn’t steal their checkbook. I tried to explain the situation to them, hoping they would understand it was a completely innocent mistake and that I am a harmless idiot, but they seemed a little leery of me. Thankfully, they didn’t call the police or demand I get fired from my job, which they could have easily done because employees aren’t really supposed to go snooping through the customers’ cars when they are inside dining. That is generally frowned upon and greatly discouraged, I believe. They just gave me some “you ain’t right in the head” looks and went on their way.

I can only imagine their shock when they walked outside to see one of the restaurant employees face deep in their floor board with her ass in the air like she just don’t care, throwing their baby’s belongings around like she’s searching for the Mary Jane stash. Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing a ski mask or something that could have been misconstrued as threatening. Then I really would have been in trouble.

Nothing says, "I'm here to murder you" like a ski mask.

Nothing says “I’m here to murder you” like a ski mask.

I immediately ran back inside to Jess, grabbed her by the shoulders and said, “Why do you hate me?! Did I do something to you?!”

“What do you mean?” she asked with a baffled look on her face.

“You said you drove a RED TRUCK! Because of you, I helped myself into an unwelcoming stranger’s truck and now I’m fairly certain they think I’m a criminal!”

“I do drive a red truck…” she said.

“WHICH ONE?!” I yelled.

“That one,” she replied, pointing to the burgundy 1998 Toyota Rav 4.

“THAT IS NOT A RED TRUCK!” I yelled at her jokingly even though I wanted to slap her across the face with a stick of salami. “It is neither red nor a truck!”

“Yes it is!” she said as she laughed at me. “Geez, I’ll go get your jacket for you.”

Just as a reference, this is what her “truck” looked like:

rav 4

It looks like that big truck’s turd.

I got my jacket back, and I didn’t get questioned by the police, so I guess it wasn’t that horrible of a day. It was just a little embarrassing to get caught red-handed digging through a stranger’s vehicle. But, what would life be like if it wasn’t peppered with tidbits of humiliation? Actually, it would probably pretty great. I should try that some time.


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