Back during my freshman year in college, I drove a POS late 70's 4 door Chevy Malibu. Green. 350 engine. Automatic. Got about 15 miles a gallon, but shuddered at 60 mph, and had no power or acceleration. Fabulous combination. The interior had a bench seat in the front, and an AM only radio that would pick up static from the firing of the sparkplugs, so it was mostly useless. It is also the last car I drove with a floor mounted dimmer switch.
But, it had 4 wheels, my parents got it from one of the relatives that died (some kind of "aunt", but the exact relationship escapes me, other than she was on my mom's side, somewhere) so it was free, and beat the heck out of walking.
And it was haunted.
Yeah? Then riddle me this, Batman, if you locked them, the back doors, once unlocked, would refuse to open form the inside or the outside when the car was stopped. If the car was moving down the road? Not a problem. They would open with ease.
You could also pull the keys out of the ignition WHILE THE CAR WAS RUNNING. You could also turn the key one click, then pull it out, and then turn the ignition switch and start the car. Not important to the story, but another fact to explain that this car was weird.
Anyway, the town I went to college in had a population of about 25,000 people, and had two small colleges located about a mile or a mile and a half from each other. We rarely mingled, as far as I remember. The only time I went to a party over there, I was the driver. I don't remember who the other two guys in the car were. One may have been Forehead. But the gal with I will call "Mayburple." She was with me at the Trump Hotel, and Gwen & Cora will be meeting at her house in about 2 weeks.
And Mayburple was lit before we even got in the car. I warned them when they piled into the back seat NOT to lock the doors, because they wouldn't open when we go there. In her drunken brain, that translated to: "Fuck with the locks, and open the doors while Scope is driving 30 miles an hour down the road."
And as certain as the sun will rise tomorrow, when we pulled into the parking lot, the doors were stuck. Exterior handle? Interior handle? Nothing. They had to crawl over the front seat to get out.
But at that minute, in an absolute moment of clarity and action, Mayburple knew what her calling in life was to be:
"I'M A SPEED BUMP!" she shouted, as she laid down in the middle of the parking lot.