I’m the dumbest person I know.
Sometimes I can’t believe I’m allowed to live unsupervised in an apartment with a stove and sharp objects, and I’m consistently amazed I haven’t accidentally starved to death yet. A couple of weeks ago, I was pretty sure I was going to jail for being stupid, and frankly I wasn’t surprised. It’s the kind of thing I’d expect from a boob like myself.
It started when I forgot about the back half of my car. It’s easy to do when you’re an imbecile.
Reasons I Forgot About the Back of My Car
- I conduct my business in the front half of the vehicle. There’s no reason for me to think about anything that happens behind the driver’s seat. Since my legs are short (and also because I’m an idiot), that means I never give 70% of my car a single thought.
- I once had a car named Ruby, and she was the love of my life– the most beautiful thing on this cold, dark planet. Great love stories always end in tragedy, though, and Ruby and I were no exception. I left her (because I’m an idiot), and now I have Beryl. I respect Beryl, but I’m not in love with her. I never look at her back half because it brings up memories of Ruby’s curves.
Things You Need to Know First
A. When the following events took place, I was a Resident Assistant. An RA is basically a glorified babysitter of college students who has to talk to the cops surprisingly often.
B. I was living and working in a small all-male residence hall (it’s a long story), but the week before this happened, administration moved the top two floors of men out and moved a bunch of girls in. The remaining fellas lived on the basement level.
C. I’m not very good at anything when I first wake up, besides being mean. People fear me in the mornings.