This is a good story.
Last night, I went to Drew’s apartment with my friend David to watch “Survivor”. Afterwards, I went to give David a ride home, after which I was going to come back and hang out with Drew some more. As we left, we were talking about Deena’s surprise expulsion, Jenna’s equally surprising rise to power and Matthew’s enormous nipples and general creepiness.
We were not paying attention to where we were going.
It was David’s first time in Drew’s building, and he took a wrong turn. Thinking he was entering a staircase, David attempted to open the door of Drew’s neighbors’ apartment.
Thankfully, the door was locked.
All the neighbors heard was a loud THUD as David banged himself into the door and realized his mistake. Oops.
Poor David, I thought. That must be so embarrassing. Didn’t he see the apartment number on the door? Didn’t he see the EXIT sign over the other door, around the corner? Didn’t he remember we came up in the elevator?
I didn’t make a big deal about it. I was just quietly thankful that that door wasn’t open. If David had walked into a stranger’s apartment unannounced, who knows what we might’ve seen, what awful humiliations would’ve been in store for them and us alike.
So we went back to talking about Survivor as we rode the elevator down and walked outside to my car.
When we were a few feet away from my car, I hit my key remote unlocker thing and pulled the handle on the driver’s side door. And as I started to get into the car, a man looked up at me from the back seat.
He was lying on top of a woman, having sex.
In my back seat.
And about half a second later, I realized something: THIS WAS NOT MY CAR.
Yes, it was parked near my car, but as I took a step back, I realized that it didn’t even look very much like my car. This car was a dark blue Toyota. My car is a black Nissan.
And the look of shock and panic on that man’s face as he looked up at me from the middle of his girlfriend’s chest is something I will never forget.
I must’ve shouted, “Sorry!” at least six times in the next two seconds.
But it got worse.
David, still talking about “Survivor”, apparently misread my string of “Sorry”s as — well, who knows what he was thinking, but I realized he was still headed for the passenger door. “It’s not my car!” I screamed. “IT’S NOT MY CAR!!!!!!”
But it was too late. David opened the door and ended up seeing exactly what I saw, only from another angle.
And then he said “Sorry” a few times. I threw in a few more “Sorry”s myself for good measure.
I’ve never climbed in my car and driven off so fast from anywhere.
David and I talked about it for a few minutes as I drove him home. David said he no longer felt so foolish for mistaking an apartment for a stairwell. I observed how that was probably the first time in my life I had opened the wrong car door, and it just happened to be the time that people were having sex inside. We both wondered why anyone would have sex in their car in a residential street and NOT EVEN LOCK THE DOOR.
And then David changed the subject back to “Survivor”.
This, I realized, is a fundamental difference between me and David. When I open the wrong car and discover people having sex inside, it warrants more than a three-minute conversation.
I dropped David off and turned around to go back to Drew’s apartment, wondering where I was going to park.
It was less than ten minutes later, and that Toyota had been parked directly in front of Drew’s building. If it was still there, I’d have to walk right past it to get to Drew’s. The horny kids would probably see me, and then they’d think of me not only as the perv who burst in on their intimate moment but as the perv who, ten minutes later, came back for more.
Sure enough, when I drove up, the car was still there, parked in the exact same spot.
I parked a block away.
I can’t imagine they were still inside getting their groove on, but I really can’t tell you. I kept my head down as I went past their windows so I wouldn’t be caught peeking in.
I just walked up to Drew’s front door and hit the buzzer, then waited the longest three seconds of my life for him to buzz me in.