Stupid is as stupid does

Great stories! I live in a college town south of DC. It would be a dull town without the students but sometimes one does have to wonder about them.
Last winter we had an ice storm hit just as rush hour started. Within minutes, literally, the streets were treacherous.
The street at that point was only one lane wide in each direction, with parking on one side and a stone wall on the other. My van, only a month old, was out of control. And the trucker, coming from the other direction, was seeing the back end of his vehicle slide away from him.
We missed by inches and I was able to safely come to a stop in a "loading zone." This pimply-faced kid bangs on my windshield and screams "Didn't you see the crosswalk?"

"Stupid is as stupid does" - should have taken a handful of that **** that suddenly appeared in your pants and smashed it into his face

RJB, you should have apologized to him, assuring him that you did your level best to mow him down.

PD--Munich is in the Catholic south of Germany, where the inhabitants have a great deal less rigid material inserted in their descending colon than in the north.

This also reminds me of Canadia. The first time i drove up to Tarana to see Lovey, i confused Erin Mills Road with Don Mills Road, and took the wrong exit. I soon realized i was nowhere near the truth, so i decided to fuel up. I don't trust merchants when changing money (although i've learned that the Toronto Chinese are scrupulously correct about the exchange rate), so i went looking for a bank. I went into the bank, and strode up the aisle between the velvet ropes. There were four cashiers, and one little old lady who was concluding her business. She left, i waited. Everyone looked at me with severe expression, making meaningful glances at the floor. I looked down, and saw a white line at the end of the carpet. I stepped back behind the line, and, like magic, everyone smiled, and i was offered service.

Since then, i've seen Canajuns at Pearson airport who will almost knock you down to get to the head of the line--they rush up, look down, place their toes just behind the line, and look up with an expression of immense self satisfaction. I like to stroll up, and stand about three feet in front of the line. Then i glare at the immigration agents, until one eventually rolls his or her eyes with the "must be an American" look, and calls me up. If i go into a bank where i am not known, i will stand across the line, and loudly inquire whether or not anyone gets paid to work in this place. As you might well imagine, i've learned to endear myself to the Canajuns.

Ha. There was a fast-food place near my house (now gone) where I would stop once every couple of weeks for greasy sausage biscuits (a forbidden food for me).
I would have to navigate through a short labyrinth to get to the counter. That struck me as odd but then (and I swear this is true) the transaction would go like this:
"I'd like two sausage biscuits to go, please."
"That will be $1.17, sir" she would say to me. And into the little microphone around her head she would say "two sb's to go."
I'd give her the money and then she'd go back into the cooking area, wrap up my order and slide it down the tray, announcing to herself over the microphone: "two sb's up." She'd come back around, pick them up, bag them and I'd be on my way.
I'm sure this all makes sense to the vice -president at some Canadian bank or some fast-food chain but one has to wonder.

Serves ya right for confusin' Erin and Don Set....hey, they aint related...none of that funny stuff allowed up here...keep that forced smile up

Hehheh. Well, in the eighties my mother took us to Poland, Prague, Budapest - then still communist countries. I remember how bemused we were, at first, about the mechanisms of service, say ...

At Gerbeaud in Pest, for example (then still very affordable, for us). You'd want a coffee, say, and one of those delicious pieces of cake. It took us a while before we found out how to order, especially since the older women behind the counters didnt speak much of foreign languages ... The trick was this:

First, you went to the cash register, and told the woman there what you would like to have (which was hard enough, since not only did we not speak Hungarian, but she was also across from the cake counter, so you couldnt point at what you wanted either - it was behind you. You had to have looked there first, and memorized the names). Then this woman would write your order on a note for you, or on two notes, probably. With these notes, you went to the woman at the coffee counter, handed her a note, and got back your cup of coffee - as well as a bill for it. Then you went to the woman at the cake counter, handed her the second slip of paper, got back your cake - and a bill for it. With these two bills, you would then go back to the woman at the cash register - and pay.

No unemployment, in Communist Hungary ;-).

Cav, there was a classic scene in John Candy's move Canadian Bacon, when they were running to the space needle, or whatever y'all call it, there in Montreal, and John is knocking Canajuns out of the way left and right--if you listen carefully, they all say: "Sorry" "Scuse me" "Beg yer pardon" . . . it was quietly high-larious for those who know the joke . . .

Loved that flick Set....

You should check out 'Buried on Sunday' if you haven't seen it already...just ignore the fact that Paul Gross is in it

Mind you...'Men with Brooms' was pretty funny...

The students here represent some of the duller bits of the town, but I did have a run in with one last month. (Y'all might think I'm being sexist on this one, but I'm telling it like it happened.) I'm waiting to turn left out of a university parking lot, and see, coming through the intersection from the right and turning into the lane next to me, a Volvo being pushed by three guys and steered and pushed at the driver's side by a gal, all students. As the car gets close, it becomes clear to me and to the guys pushing at the rear that the car is headed straight at my front bumper. They stop pushing. I look for a way to get out of the way, but I'm blocked on the right and behind me, and anything ahead or to the left just puts me right into the path of the car. The car is pointed slightly downhill at this point, so it's also accelerating. The girl finally notices what's going on.

So what does she do? Does she crank the wheel to avoid me? No. Does she get in and step on the brake, or pull the hand brake? No. She lets go of the car completely and lets it coast into my front bumper. Luckily the thing was only going about three miles an hour, and the bumper's got this reboundy plastic stuff over it, and that I don't mind that my license plate is dented to hell.

She just let go of the car. Which makes me wonder -- what would she have done if it was a baby stroller in the crosswalk, and not the front of my car?

She would have let go, and screamed . . .

Women drivers should be banned.

Students. I hope they learn.

Kids these days. Why can't they be like adults?

Politicians. Sometimes it's okay to tell the truth.

Bombs. For peace and prosperity.

Life. If everything made sense, there'd be no curiosity to keep us interested.