One of the best things about living in a city is the random stuff you overhear.
For instance: Saturday night. Sometime after midnight. It's about fourteen degrees outside. The significant other and I are lying in bed when the quiet night is shattered by the sounds of banging and cursing. We go to the window to make sure that our minivan and/or windowboxes aren't being dismantled. We see a young guy standing beside the open passenger's-side door of a parked car. And the curtain goes up as the Get Out of the Car players present "Get Out of the Car."
Guy: "Get out of the car!"
Silence. The door slams. The guy opens it again.
Guy: "Get the $(#* out of the car!"
Silence. The door slams. The guy opens it again.
Guy: "Seriously, I've got enough $*%$#(@% in my life. I don't have time to be $*#?@#@# around with your $&(#. GET OUT OF THE CAR!"
Silence. The door slams. The guy opens it again.
Guy: GET THE *$)# OUT OF THE....NO, NOW THERE'S A CAR COMING, DON'T GET OUT OF THE CAR NOW!
He slams the door. Silence. He opens it again.
Guy: "I swear to God, I'm leaving if you don't get out of the car."
Silence. Door slams. Guy curses loudly, walks to the corner. Walks back to the car. Opens the door.
Guy: "Would you please get the @%^! out of the car?!?!"
This went on for at least twenty minutes. He'd curse. The door would slam. He'd open it again. He'd walk away. He'd come back. He'd open the door again, then shut it because a car was coming, then open it again.
It was like Waiting for Godot, only drunker.
And by the end, when the reluctant party finally did exit the vehicle? I was totally primed for it to be a drunk buddy -- the whole tenor of the guy's remarks seemed to be "Dude, get out of my car 'cause you're gonna puke in the back seat" -- but it was a girl. In high heels and a short skirt. The two of them sashayed around the corner, and by the time we got up the next morning, the car was gone.
