Staff Picks

Getting a Ride Home With Someone You Don't Know

by Jake Hurwitz on December 14, 2006

So you met some kid that lives near you during orientation and talked about a carpool for Winter Break. Sounds good, right? Wrong. Just take a look at one of the many possible scenarios:

Dad: So boys, how were finals?
Son: They were fine.
You: Good.
Dad: How’d you do.
Son: They actually haven’t posted all the grades yet.
Dad: Really? (Turns to you) Are your grades posted?
You: Oh, uh, yeah, mine were posted.
Dad: Interesting…(Turns to his son) Now how about you stop lying to me you little cocksucker.
Son: Dad-
Dad: Listen you little dirtbag, I’ll pull this car over right now. I will pull this car over, tear down your pants and spank you. Don’t think I won’t embarrass you in front of your friend.
You: Really, they actually haven’t posted all the gra-
Dad: You just shut the hell up! Just because I don’t know you don’t think I won’t smack your ass til it’s pink!
Son: I got a C on my Calc final, okay?! I got a 74, are you happy now?
Dad: Oh yes, I’m thrilled. Thrilled that my son is halfway retarded. Thirty thousand dollars for mediocrity. Great, just great.

5 minutes where no one talks

Son: Can we turn on the radio.
Dad: No.

10 minutes

Dad: Is this 95 South?
You: I think it’s North.
Dad: I know what it is.

5 minutes

Son: How is mom.
Dad: She’ll be fine until I tell her about that math grade. She might die of a broken heart.
Son: Jesus dad.
Dad: Oh no! Oh no you stupid little ingrate! Don’t you talk about Jesus, Jesus could have passed a math exam.
Son: A 74 is passing!
Dad: I will turn this Volvo around. I swear to God. You shut your pouty asshole of a mouth or I will take off my belt and strangle you with it like the dirtbag clit face that you are. I hate you.
Son: There might be a curve, you know.
Dad: Yeah, a curve to your spine after I kick you in it, you Scoliosis backed piece of dried jizz. Don’t you try to make me feel better about this. I will crash into a truck on your side of the car. I swear to God.
Son: Sorry.

40 minutes of silence.

You: This is my exit.