Having been a licensed driver for almost 20 years I can proudly say my oopsies are few and far between. I have never been in any sort of serious accident, minor fender-benders notwithstanding. In that time I have only had 3 (I think) speeding tickets, the most recent being in ’98. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve dodged more fines than I can count.
Without going into detail, I can openly admit that on more than one occasion I should have probably gone to jail for my shenanigans. Live and learn right? Truth be told, my most embarrassing moment was probably when I was about 18. I had just bought a no-frills, pristine little Toyota pickup. I was parked in front of my best friends house, blocking the driveway. His dad came out and asked me to move so he could get his car out. My stereo was blaring and I had my leg hanging out the door. Something in my head told me that using my right foot to feather the clutch to inch backwards 10 feet was a good idea. A dented tailgate and 10 minutes of pointing and laughing told me otherwise. I was fortunate enough to be able to spin that into a funny story rather than me running off into the woods, scared that his dad was going to kill me for backing into their truck. Luckily, there was no damage done to their truck and I got out alive with nothing more than a bruised ego and some dented sheet metal.
And that brings me to this video I saw on the local news the other night.
So, what is your most embarrassing “oops?”
Hooniverse Asks- What is your most embarrassing oops?
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38 responses to “Hooniverse Asks- What is your most embarrassing oops?”
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I bought a Saturn.
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Yeah, well, I bought a Cavalier.
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At least it wasn't a Sunfire.
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Yeah, I got a Saturn and then the entire brand died.
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Oh, and as for the video: That gentleman is destined for political office. Mark my words.
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Don't mock him. He clearly needs all the support he can get.
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Don't mock him. He clearly needs all the support he can get.
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Fortunately, I've had no huge embarrassing driving 'oops'. I was a little embarrassed when a cop pulled me over one night for driving with only my park lights on. It's a boring story why that happened, but it was just a 'duh moment.'
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I got pulled over with just my park lights on last night…totally thought I had my head lights on woooooops.
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I've only forgotten to turn my headlights on once, because I drive an old 240 – I can leave the lights on 24/7 and they go off as soon as the ignition's not on or in accessory mode and come back when I start the car. That one time wasn't long ago – I was tired and had pulled off to the shoulder to take a couple photos. I killed the engine but left the keys in and on accessory; I shut the lights off instead of turning the ignition all the way for some reason. I started off again – this being at dusk, with a light drizzle – and most cars had their lights on, but I didn't notice until someone flashed me their high beams.
Thanks, buddy. Showed how tired I was, I guess.
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Several years back I was meeting up with my sister who was in downtown San Diego on business. On my way to her hotel I was waiting behind a meter maid to make a right turn on a red. She made the turn and I rolled forward to look for oncoming traffic so I could do the same. I was still looking left as I was turning as my view was blocked by a truck that was in the lane next to me waiting for the light to change. I rolled through and turned to look where I was going and the meter maid just then slammed on her brakes to avoid a car that was parked on the street that had cut her off merging into traffic. I slammed on my breaks about a half second too late and bumped into her. The collision was so slight I didn't even feel it and there was zero paint transfer, let alone damage.
It was both extremely embarrassing and frustrating. Embarrassing because, you know, I hit a f*cking meter maid! Frustrating later because the woman complained of "back pain" after the accident, likely so she could milk several paid days off and I know there is no way in hell she could have been hurt in the least, and I got an additional point on my record for being at fault in an accident that resulted in "injury."-
Your description of the "how you hit" is almost EXACT to my second-most embarrassing. In my case I was feeling incredibly ill (going home and only 3 blocks away) so I admittedly wasn't paying the greatest of attentions… but OTOH I saw the car in front of me leave like 2 minutes ago and here I am looking left OK it looks clear let's ease into the gas as I turn my head back right WHAP!
I broke a turn signal on the T-bird, scratched the bumper of the Grand Cherokee I hit. Woman got out and I knew it was trouble as the FIRST words out of her mouth were "I HOPE YOU HAVE INSURANCE!" (capslock intended). Fucking bitch went on to sue me for "6 months loss of earning ability pain and sufffering yadda yadda yadda". All this, when the cop on the scene asked why he was called (with almost no visible damage), and did I need an Ambulance (I really was not feeling well and almost passed out waiting).
Found out the bitch in question was a scam artist – a realtor who had done several lawsuits, and also showed several houses during the time she claimed to be put out – including one to my boss. I wanted to fight it to the death but the insurance co. settled to make her go away. Thanks for the insurance rates, bitch.
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The scene of the crime, my high school parking lot. The actors, my best friend in a 76 Custom Cruiser and me in a 70 LeMans 'Vert with a 4-speed. That transmission figures highly in what transpired that fateful day.
We both swing into the parking lot at the same time and spy the same perfect parking spot. You know the one, on the end of the row so you can park all the way to the side away from your neighbor, helping to avoid door dings? Yeah, that one. Well, Mr. Olds and I come after that spot from both sides and he gets the nose of his tank in the spot, but I'm blocking him from making the turn complete, my front bumper neatly aligned with his driver door. I depress the clutch and throw some revs at him, to show that I didn't approve of his shenanigans. Then, as I wasn't really upset, just goofing, I slammed that Hurst into reverse, revved her up and dumped the clutch. And instantly slammed into his door. D'oh! I'll swear it felt like reverse 'til my dying day.
And that's the story of how Smells Homeless' LeMans got its cracked header panel. -
Failing to notice that the gasket had separated from the filter when doing the 500 mile oil-change on the freshly rebuilt engine in my Mustang. Hello, second top-end rebuild in 523 miles.
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I pulled up to the four-way stop, saw that the Taurus in the cross-street was slowing, and pulled out…only to get T-boned; I was a block east of my usual route, and it wasn't a four-way stop. The lady I pulled out in front of was understandably angry. I was incredibly embarrassed and distraught. The cop who came to take the report even took time to console me, saying, "Don't worry, we all know you're a good little citizen." I should of found her comment condescending, but at the time it I found it the remarkably comforting.
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"I didn't even see it!"
Oh…you mean the huge pile of rocks where a road should be, yeah pretty easy to miss that one. -
Driving home from work in bumper to bumper traffic…..stopstartstopstartstopstartAAAAA-CHOOOOcrunch. Yep, the sneeze made me close my eyes juuuust long enough for the hood of my car and the back bumper of the truckasaur I was following to meet unexpectedly. Fuckin' allergies……
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God, my eyes were watering so bad on my commute home, I almost plowed into a Liberty with faulty breaklights. Goddamn.
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Got pulled over at one of those DUI/license and insurance checks several years ago (stone cold sober). I didn't have a current insurance card in the car with me, had about 2 years worth of expired cards. I was still living with my parents, was only about 5 miles from the house. Called my folks on the car phone, to give you an idea of how long ago this was, "Bring the insurance card!". The cops pull me off to the side of the road to wait. I was in my 92 T-Bird S/C (5-speed). Dad never could find the insurance card, so I take the ticket and will have to send in proof of insurance to get it waived. At some point during this I had put the car in neutral, later I decide I need to get out of the car for some reason. I forgot to set the parking brake! Car proceeds to roll under a gate made out of guardrail and bend up/gouge the hood and fenders.
I'm really glad Georgia has computerized proof on insurance for cops now. -
Assuming that an oops is only when you don't completely total a car (that is a little beyond the concept I think.) Lets go with this:
I was 17, driving a cute girl that I was interested in (later dated!) in HER car through the desert. We had been out camping and were going on a run into town for some supplies. Her car was some mid-nineties Buick I think, FWD and I had never even been in it before.
I was bragging about how much fun I had hooning my car around on the same roads we were on (dirt roads, badly wash boarded, and graded on either side for runoff. She said, "Maybe you should slow down." I am sure my reply was snarky, but less than 2 minutes later I lost control of her car and went right off the road deep into some tumbleweeds, we were probably going 40-45 MPH so we went WAY off the road.
After we came to a stop, she says "Oh, is this how you usually do it in YOUR car?" I about died. Fortunately I didn't do any real damage (I would have been fucked if I had punctured a radiator or broken something, there was no one for miles and miles out there.) and I managed to push it out while she backed up.
Needless to say, she insisted on driving it the rest of the way.
Like I said, I ended up dating her later, and we were very close but I was so embarrassed when we stopped moving. Death would have rocked just right then hahaha. -
I have plenty, but one recurring one is this:
I always, always kill a manual car I am test driving when I pull into the street. I am so used to the travel of my clutch pedal I suppose, but every time I kill it. -
I've got quite a few – ending up in a ditch doing a three point turn (it was filled with snow and looked like a hard shoulder), forgetting to properly tighten the drain plug, forgetting to reattach a spark plug wire.
But I think my worst one was driving a delivery Chevette. One of my coworkers had put it in the ditch the night before, and screwed the tranny trying to get it out. I can't remember if it had lost a gear, or if I had to manually shift it through the gears to get it out of first (it was a slushbox), but my boss trusted me enough that I was assigned to that car, figuring I'd be least likely to screw it up more until it could get fixed. So what do I do? Go out and hoon, like most nights. Going around a corner, I stabbed the gas to try and break the ass end loose. It goes straight. I managed to get it out without causing any lasting damage to the car (or having to call in and fess up), but I felt sheepish.
Oh, or there was the one time I made a wrong turn and ended up driving from Wasaga Beach to Brampton, instead of back home.-
I've hung one wheel into a ditch doing a three-pointer. I've also swung around hard to try to avoid one, figured I could scrape through the snowbank, and gotten hung up on it. Twice. Within a two-week period. (I should know better, but I'll never get completely used to the front overhang.)
And I've had similar break-loose-damn-you moments once or twice, but none going fast enough that I couldn't've braked out of it.
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The time I created a massive airbrake out of the Angstmobile's hood.
Step right up and behold this pearl of wisdom: NEVER attempt your first carb rebuild on the infamous Motorcraft 4350 (vacuum-fed 4bbl). Even die-hard blue-oval fanboys accurse that black mechanical malaise abortion until their dying day, and mine being a first model year (1975) is worse. Needless to say, some post-rebuild fine-tuning was required; the process was something like "stop car > open hood > adjust mixture / chokedown / etc > close hood > 0-60 it to note driveability > FAIL > stop car… wash rinse repeat…"
After about the half-dozenth iteration of this cycle, two things were happening: 1) I was getting closer to the sweet spot and in my zeal, I 2) began relying on the hood safety catch to do the job, as opposed to slamming the hood fully closed every friggin’ time… -
This hubris smote mightily when, upon failing to notice that the hood did not catch on the safety this time, I was greeted with an eruption of baby-blue death rising from the hood toward the windshield at 45mph. No, that IS the hood. HOLYSHIT! I don't know what was more effective: panic-braking on 25-year-old discs, or a shiny 4×8’ sail. I heard a sickening metallic groan as the sprung hinge mounts sank into the cowl, and when the car came to a rest the sail slammed back down with a thud that gave voice to my heart's plunging to my stomach.
Thankfully the damage was minimal: some readjustment of the hinges needed, and some slight, reparable dogears on the hood corners. Angstmobile: 1; GIC's ego: 0.
My FIL put my mind at ease though. When I explained the events, he chuckled and said "Yeah, it's pretty scary when that happens isn't it?" -
It COULD have been an oops… On the beginning of the return portion of a cross country trip with a good friend in a 4-cyl Jeep Wrangler (an oops in itself really), I decided to floor it on one of the long downhill sections leading to Vegas. The speedo needle was pointing due South and at the end of the hill the car weaved back and forth in long sweeps… it was fucking terrifying.
I no longer desire to see how fast a Jeep Wrangler can go since we were probably doing about 105… and I nearly ruined the interior (of my pants).-
That was essentially the reason I decided not to test the top speed of my Volvo – I've seen an indicated 87, at which point I opted to back off because every gentle gust of wind shunted the car a foot or so to one side.
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When I was first learning to drive, I managed to gouge the driver's door of a '97 Mystique and shatter the sideview mirror on a dumpster. I was backing in next to it, realised I was too close, and accidentally pulled the elderly-Audi-driver wrong-pedal trick.
I don't tell that story much. -
hey those are nice legs… red light screeeech.
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Late 80s, 19 years old, on my way to a part time job. I was driving my 72 Gremlin down a dirt road and doing my best Dukes of Hazzard impression, sliding the rear end left and right and spraying dirt everywhere. I came to an intersection and turned right, doing a beautiful power slide that got away from me right into a newly cut drainage ditch, and up the berm on the other side. "Where did THAT come from?" KARUNCH!!
I heard the fan kiss the radiator so I shut it off, popped the hood and got out to inspect the damage. The front left & rear right wheels were dangling in the air so I reached in through the window,put the car in neutral and gave it a push off the berm.
Just then I heard a truck coming and I panicked, realizing there were tell tale tracks half a mile up the road. Thinking I was going to get in trouble I remembered my step-dad's story about how he once avoid a ticket by disconnecting the throttle spring, so I popped my spring off. "Everything ok?" Oh yeah, throttle spring broke. The driver gave me the "yeah right" look and kept going.
I decided to start the car to see how bad the damage was, so again reaching in through the window I gave the key a twist. Just as the motor started I remembered my stepdad also mentioning something about a broken.. neutral… safety… switch. Turns out the transmission was actually in reverse. Genius!
The next few moments are still a blur…
Engine screaming, wide open throttle, hood up, fan doing the slap-chop on the radiator, rooster tails spraying me from the rear tires doing what seemed like 100 miles per hour, and steam billowing everywhere as the car tried to climb sideways out of the ditch with no driver.
And of course me hanging onto the windowsill, dragging my feet and groping inside for the gearshift lever.
Had the car gotten away from me, it was pointing downhill to a ranger station a mile away, and the roads had nice steep banks that made for a perfect bowling alley.-
Ok now I am reminded of another "oops" that had somehow slipped my mind. About 5 years ago I was restoring a beat-up CJ-5. I had, only weeks before dropped a 360 into it and was in the process of cleaning up the wires and hoses under the hood. It was after dark so I had it in the garage where I could better see what I was doing. I don't recall what I was actually doing at the time but I do remember what it feels like when you have just realised the vehicle is in gear but it is too late to stop what your head told your hand to do. Do you guys have any idea how much torque a jeep starter has? Enough to propel it through 10 feet of tools, parts, boxes and other misc. things. Luckily I had a double-deep garage and no tools or walls were harmed.
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This is just from the span of about one year:
-When I was about 17 I was hauling big round bales with the '69 Dodge C700 semi that I've mentioned here before. I had most of a load on the ancient flatbed and was about 2 miles from the farm, and for some reason I thought I was supposed to stop there on the floor of a valley so my dad could catch up with the wheel loader and put some more bales on the trailer. I misjudged my stopping distance and wound up stopped dead at the beginning of the ~8% uphill grade, with the curves for the bridge not far behind me and a 12' wide load blocking my view through my mirrors that were set for an 8' trailer. After a few tries on my own my dad had to give me a push with the loader. (I probably could have backed that far in a passably straight/road-following line now, but not then…)
-Probably the same summer: I was driving the 544 Farmall out to a field with a 14' grain drill hooked up behind, to seed some places the big planter had skipped. I forgot put a cotter pin on the hitch pin. I was going 25 down the township road and the drill got bouncing on some washboards, and suddenly the drive got a lot quieter. Look back and there's the drill stopped with its hitch buried a foot into the road…. and my dad in the pickup a mile back and gaining.
-Also probably the same summer: I had the task of taking the elderly Kawasaki 300cc 4-wheeler out with a souped up lawn sprayer in tow to spot-spray noxious weeds in the pastures. I'd stopped at the top of a valley with the rig jack-knifed a little, and was using the handgun to get some weeds when I noticed my 4-wheeler didn't want to stay where I put it. The 4-wheeler rolled back so its tire was against the hitch of the sprayer, and this put enough torque on the end of the hitch that the weld failed and tore the end plates off the tongue. The 4-wheeler goes sailing down the side of the valley and missed taking me with it by 6".
-Numerous times: forgot that 1/8 tank actually meant "empty" in one of the '78 F-150's. This was the one with the 400M, bored .030 if not .060 over on its rebuild, with a 500cfm carb atop but with only the factory 16 gallon tank in back, making it the poster child for the "it can pass anything but a gas station" concept. (Best practice was to fill up every 120 miles.)
-That pickup caused the next one: I wound up getting my Cougar stuck in the ditch from not realizing the pickup was stopped dead in the road, out of gas, one winter night. My thought process was something like: "that car a half mile ahead is moving right?… those are just parking lights after all, are they turning at that driveway?… they're sure going slow… s@#*( that's dad's truck and it's stopped!" -
I had just gotten my '69 F100 back from a couple of guys who were re-lining the gas tank for me. I was out driving the truck a week later and it was a warmer day. I felt cool fluid on my neck. Thinking it was sweat I kept going. When I got home I noticed it was all over the back glass and the seat. It was gasoline from the sending unit bolts not being any more than finder tight. If I was a smoker I’d be dead.
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I was home for the summer after my freshman year in college, and drove my first car (a '63 Corvair convertible) to a movie matinee at a nearby mall. I parked next to a pickup with a loud engine that was starting up, and didn't realize that I pulled out the key without turning off the engine. (In those days you could do that.) Corvair engines were rather quiet, and so I locked the car and went to the movie without noticing that it was still running. When I came back nearly two hours later, I got a very funny look from a nearby motorist who saw me unlock the door to my idling car. Thankfully there was enough gas in the tank that the car could idle for that long without running out….
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Many, many, years ago on a Friday afternoon after a huge Mexican lunch paid for by the Boss, he gave us all the afternoon off. I went home (which was right on the Truck Terminal/Dock property, where most of us lived), and got completely stoned. A little while later, the Boss knocks on my door and asks if I can give him a hand for just a little bit. Because I'm stoned and completely paranoid and feel I owe him for the lunch and because I know he's running everything by himself, I agree.
"Hook up this Tractor (Truck) to that Trailer and go fuel it and spot it with the doors closed in the next bay, so everything is ready for Monday morning."
Simple. I back the Tractor under the trailer, but hit it (the ramps of the fifth-wheel won't pick it up), so instead of getting out and raising the landing gear, I go up on the Dock and park the fork-lift right on the tail of the trailer which raises the nose enough to get under it. When I get back into the cab of the truck, I think, "Screw hauling that trailer all the way into town during Fri. rush-hour, I'll just bob-tail in and then hook-up when I get back….."
I must have said, "Don't forget about the fork-lift!" about three thousand times, and was probably saying it when I got back and hook-upped and drove away. Haven't smoked pot since. -
I've had my license for about two years now, so there are only 2 instances to report (which is pretty good for an 18 year old, I guess).
The first one was last summer, when was leaving work. I was having a really shitty day, having spent 6 hours cleaning blades from printing presses and then proceeding to cut my finger badly on said blade. As I was backing out of my parking spot, I checked to see how much oil had leaked during the day. I proceeded to back my Caravan right over one of those concrete parking blocks, and get it stuck right under my left rear shock mount. Granted, the parking lot is really narrow, and I was preoccupied with frustration (and throbbing pain from my finger), but it was still embarrassing when I had to go inside and tell my supervisor what happened. Also, this was my 6th day at that job…
The second time is more embarrassing. It was about a month ago, and I was doing 35 MPH in my neighborhood, at night, in the snow (bad idea). I decided to try the old Scandinavian Flick around a corner (terrible idea). I cut the wheel to the right, and then to the left. I don't remember if I lifted off the gas, or punched the throttle. The Caravan started to understeer towards someone's lawn, so I hit the brakes. All four wheels locked up, and I slid right off the road, onto their lawn, into a snowbank, and then hit a rock that was covered by snow. I totally smashed up the transmission housing; the car was high-centered on the rock, resting on the trans. I had to call AAA to get it unstuck. Luckily, I'm pretty sure I didn't damage the transmission itself, but the car now sits on the driveway, leaking trans fluid at an alarming rate.
It was a valuable lesson in stupidity. In the future, I will save all my shenanigans for empty, snow-covered parking lots. -
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