From: Ken Rice

I was a military policeman stationed in Germany. My partner, "Pelican," and I went out on patrol in our trusty VW van. We were shooting the breeze when he turned his head to spit out the gallon (hence the odd nickname "pelican") of tobacco juice he had stored in his mouth. The only thing was that he forgot the window was rolled up. Well, I laughed so hard I forgot to watch the road. Pelican shouts, "Look out for the dog!"

There on the road, a scant 30 yards ahead, was the most beautiful German shepherd that I had ever seen. Not wanting to (A) hit the dog, or (B) wash the van afterward, I panicked and slammed on the brakes. We did a 180¡ right around the dog! As we traveled backwards down the road at about 50 mph, I saw the dog sigh with relief and dash off into the woods. Only then did I realize we were sliding backwards down a two-lane road! I slammed on the breaks again. Only this time it induced a 360 degree spin down the road, and we jumped a ditch, hit a row of trees broadside and were thrown back onto the highway, with the van coming to rest on the driver's side. Every window was broken, except one. The window that Pelican had spit on was now above us, with the juices slowly dripping down on us as if basting a turkey. Pelican, hanging upside down in his seat belt, with a drop of juice running down his nose, looked at me and said, "Aren't you glad you missed the dog?"

From: Wanda Quayle

After a weekend of water, sun and fun at Lake Powell, we towed our motor home to solid ground. When the motor wouldn't start, my handy dandy son-in-law put gas into the carburetor. After extinguishing the flames once, he tried it again. The flames rose higher this time. I grabbed my two-year-old grandson and jumped into the nearest auto and raced away. I noticed the boy's mother driving madly to catch me yelling through her window and pointing behind me. I was pulling the flaming motor home behind me.

From: Patrick Poire

This happened some years ago to my neighbors.

They were on vacation in Florida and were driving a model of rental car that they were unfamiliar with.

As luck would have it, they had a flat tire. After much trial and error they managed to change the tire. When they got back into the car they realized that they had locked the car keys in the trunk!

Ever resourceful, the husband remembered that the back seats of some cars are not very firmly attached to the body, and that you can sometimes pull the clips loose that hold the seat in place.

He began pulling. Soon, he was sweating profusely in the hot Florida sun and had managed to rip most of the seat apart. His wife, meanwhile, was standing outside the car berating him for his stupidity and carrying on about what they were going to tell the rental agency when they had to return the car with the back seat destroyed.

Just before they came to blows, a police officer pulled in behind them. He got out of the car and asked if there was a problem. The husband, embarrassed over what he had done to the seat, told the policeman what had happened. The policeman surveyed the scene, walked over to the driver's side of the car, reached down and activated the trunk release handle.... He then wished them a nice day and drove away...shaking his head.

From: Eric "Car Daddy" Rothchild

It was a hot summer day and I was bleeding brakes after a master cylinder rebuild. I have found that a tall thin bottle works best to catch the excess brake fluid as it comes out of the bleeder hose.

I was drinking beer and had a spare "tall boy" handy. It was just the right shape and size. With the first wheel down, I left the bleeder hose hanging on the wheel. I called on my six-year-old daughter to come get the bottle, and set it in a safe place. She put it on the bench, with all the boxes and brake fluid and tools that were still in use.

"Shouldn't you have left the bleeder hose in the bottle, Daddy," she asked? She was a young mechanical prodigy, correcting Dad already.

I reached for my beer and took a long suck on it as I tried to figure out a way to side step responsibility for my procedural mistake. Suddenly, my whole body heaved and the air filled with brake fluid.

As I danced my "brake fluid in the mouth" dance, retching and spitting furiously, she handed me the bottle with the beer in it and asked, "Is today's lesson how to never drink beer and bleed brakes at the same time, Daddy?"

From: John Henne

Nearly thirty years ago I acquired my dream project. A 1947 Studebaker pick-up truck.

It was kind of rough, and the tires were cracked and wouldn't hold air for more than a few hours. So, I put it on the stands and took off two of the wheels. On the third wheel, I just couldn't get that damn lug nut off. I put a long pipe on the wrench, but it still wouldn't budge.

I spent most of the weekend chiseling off the nuts with a cold chisel and a hammer, and skinned many a knuckle in the process.

The next wheel was just as tight, so I asked around about a torch. That's when my friend the mechanic pointed out my idiocy.

You guessed it: left-handed nuts.

I never admitted this to anyone before. Confession doesn't help. I still feel like an idiot.

From: Eric Fry

I spent 10 years as the somewhat proud owner of a 1992 Hyundai Excel.

One fine Saturday, I decided to change my front brake pads.

Living in downtown Sacramento and without a garage, I had to complete the repair on the street. I had the front left high in the air, as I squeezed in between the curb and the open wheel well, struggling to remove the caliper from the rotor.

I suffered a brief moment of clarity and saw my auto shop teacher droning on and on about jack stands, and then I felt the car slowly shift, wiggle and chomp down on my head. The rotor was on the asphalt and my head was wedged in between the rotor and the wheel well. I was stuck with the curb at my back and the car on my head.

Realizing that I was not dead, I felt around for the jack, located it and was then finally able to get it back under the frame.

About this time, a young, attractive neighbor walked over and asked if I needed help. I declined, telling her I was fine and just changing my brake pads. As she left, I was able to jack the car up enough to pop my head out, with only a few minor scratches to my chin.

Many lessons were learned that day-- and my front right rotor forevermore made a soothing thump thump thump.