How Did You Get In My Car?

Years ago, I am guessing about 2008 based on the air freshener, I was dating a girl who lived in Philly. When I met her she was living in NYC but she moved south to try her luck as a stripper in the small city. To be honest, it made things a lot better. I have always been better with long distance relationships. Not sure what that says about me and my ability to function as a human but it’s a lot easier to be excited about someone when you only see them once or twice a month.

One weekend I drove down to visit her and we went to this film festival that my friend Doug was running. He had opened a theater/ event space in some sort of industrial wasteland in Philly. There was nothing but factories and urban ruin for miles. It’s probably a Starbucks now.

We stayed late to hang out with Doug and made our exit after everyone had left save for the film fest crew and a few other friends who stayed late. My car was parked about a block away and when we got close to it I noticed something strange.

There was a man sitting in the front seat… well maybe sitting is the wrong word. He laying up against the steering wheel with his legs pointed the wrong direction hanging over the driver’s side seat. I was puzzled for a number of reasons not least of which was that I was pretty damn sure I had locked my car. I also had no idea where he had come from. He wasn’t at the film screening and there was nothing else near us.

I pulled my camera out even before I reached the car ready to take a photo of this passed out lunatic. When I opened the door he didn’t even move an inch. I took a couple photos of him and tried to take him up. I shook him a bit and he just looked at me and went back to sleep. I shook him again.

“What are you doing in my car and also can you get out of my car?” He looked up at me again, mumbled something and once again went to sleep.

It’s at this point that I should mention my girlfriend was latina. This usually would not be very relevant and she can’t even speak Spanish but in this moment it’s an important detail because when she gets angry she quickly becomes a the exact angry Rosie Perez stereotype that you should be imagining right now. She screamed at him to get the fuck out of the car and even snapped at him.

Not even a man so drunk as to nap in a strangers car in the most inconceivable of positions could ignore this. He finally arose from his slumber and stepped out of my car. He didn’t say a word to us as he stumbled down the street. I just burst out laughing.

We of course had to go back inside and tell everyone about what had just happened and of course we stuck around longer than we probably should have and probably a half hour had gone by before we finally got back to my car. As we drove to my girlfriend’s apartment we saw our friend once again, a mile from the theater, lurching down the street, one foot after another like a zombie on the road to oblivion.

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