Have you ever had to get out of a car in a hurry and, if so, why?
To rush inside the house due to being desperate for a slash.
Forgot to go pee 🙁
Yes, when one of my children feels the need to vomit.
Rushed to McDonalds for breakfast, arrived at 10:29, dumped car illegally, didn’t lock it, ran inside to find a massive queue but because it was Sunday they were serving double sausage and egg muffins until 11. Idiot.
Once I was very hungover and driving some friends home along a country road and I felt some tickling on my thigh. I glanced down to see a BEE THE SIZE OF A CHICKEN EGG happily taking a stroll around my nether region.
Startled, I braked and flung myself from my battered, ancient Corsa B (impoverished first car), diving out into the road (happily there was no traffic)and running around and wrenching my baggy hangover shorts from my person, lest there be a nest of the buggers in there. Alas there was no nest, but my equally hungover passengers were bemused to say the least.
To get out of car while sitting in back seat filming Thelma and Louise driving off the cliff.
Many years ago I went to the supermarket with my mate Welsh Mike in his old school Rover Mini. As we pulled into a parking space I noticed a strange device amongst all the crap on the dashboard shelf and asked what it was. ‘This is an attack alarm,’ Welsh Mike explained, picking it up. He worked in a dodgy area and had been given it by his employer. ‘If this pin came out now,’ he continued. ‘We would both be literally deafened…’ At which point the pin fell out. You’ve never seen two grown men get out of a tiny car so fast.
Id driven to the post office in my E36 M3 back in about ’95. As I parked I noticed a huge huntsman spider had been holding on to the drivers side wiper. About 7 to 8 inches across. We get them here in Australia.
Once there was no more airflow it scurried away.
I hate spiders and had to tell myself “John, just open the door, it’s gone”. After a full minute I took a deep breath and did so.
The huntsman then fell from the top of the door sill onto the seat bolster next to my leg. It looked fairly cross.
I still don’t know how I did it but I cleared the transmission tunnel, rolled over the passenger seat whilst releasing the door handle, landed on the grass by the curb and slammed the passenger side door closed all in under 2 seconds.
I then remembered that huntsmen spiders are not actually life threatening. But I still would not go back to get my keys out of the M3 for 30mins.
I sold the car shortly after that as I never had concrete proof that the spider was not still inside it somewhere.
It was a SsangYong Rodius.
This is a disgrace! I’m outraged that the EU allow these illegal muslims into Britain to take our jobs. Why oh why have we never learned? Enoch Powell (etc, etc)
Oh and yes, gastric emergency related. Side of the road, near Thame.
Driving on our honeymoon, my new wife and I stopped in at Happendon services on the M74. Refreshed (well, as refreshed as you can be after visiting such places), and enjoying the lovely late August weather, we returned to the car.
I was just about to leave the car park when I spotted something crawling across the top of the dash. The sight of it was enough to make me want to vacate the car pretty sharpish, so I undid my belt, opened the door and leapt out, leaving my bride in the passenger seat wondering what was going on.
In my haste to leave I hadn’t even put the handbrake on so she continued her Mitsubishi-bound trundle towards the car park exit, bemused and not a little concerned. Then she spotted what I’d seen; a 3″ horntail wasp at the bottom of the windscreen, making its towards her. Needless to say, with a fear of wasps and bees approaching abject terror, she suddenly understood my imperative to leave and quickly joined me outside the car. Luckily it ground to a halt after another 10 yards or so without hitting anything and we waited for the thing to vacate the car.
Never having seen one of these wasps before I wasn’t aware that they are harmless, but they certainly don’t look it.
I am of course reminded of my selfless act of bravery on a frequent basis.
At the point the flames made their way from the boot of my old Mini and started licking around the edges of the rear seat…..and I realised the petrol tank was in the boot.
When it was on fire.
Three times that happened in my first car, a Mk1 Astra – The strangest time was when my alternator seized and the belt kept spinning (cue fire) I was only half a mile from my Brothers house so I kept going.
One thing I learned that day – drivers in St Helens will not give way even when smoke pouring from under the bonnet of your car.
There was also that other time when the wiring that had been bodged with black insulation tape and Hi-Fi speaker connectors (not by me!) fell onto the exhaust – well done GM for having a clipped-in washer fluid container as a handy extinguisher.
Cadwell Park, two laps from the end, leading by a country mile. That’s odd, someone seems to have left a chunk of their bodywork in the middle of the track – and it’s burning – that’s nice the Marshalls are waving to me – uh oh, not so nice, the car is on fire……
I’d always planned what to do in such an emergency, park near to a marshall’s post get out and help them put the car out. Sadly, a rear brake line (best Goodrich could supply) had burned through and so I left the circuit heaidng for a tyre barrier.
Fortunately, I avoided the barrier and it ended OK with a marshall sprinting 25 metres with an extinguisher….. still a lot of damage but not as bad as it could have been.
Yes, after a particularly repugnant fart that even made me gag, I had to stop the car and get out.
I once threw a fag out of the window of a mk2 Golf GTI only to discover the window was up when it bounced back and between my back and the seat. You know that scene in The Big Lebowski? Pretty much that
It could have had something to do with the bet from the night before, involving a stop watch and pickled eggs.
It was on fire a little bit
Last night, travelling back to catch a flight after racing at Le Mans. Due to Sunday traffic in Paris, had to abandon the hire car at the drop off point for departures to make the flight with 30 seconds to spare. Surprise surprise the rental company were not happy!
Bit of a misunderstanding with some Argies concerning a number plate. It started raining stones.
“Let it go, let it go
Can’t hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door!”
Several times, mostly fire-related, but once when on holiday near Lyon when a snake took up residence in my father-in-law’s Xantia and the car was blocking a driveway. Someone had to move it, but needless to say that involved une sortie rapide.
Yes. Because it was upside down in a field. :-\
Just the usual tales of assorted appallingly badly built British cars and vans catching fire, breaking down (and sometimes both) making rapid escapes sensible.
They usually make for interesting anecdotes, but in present company, I suspect they’ll be ten a penny.
Twice I can remember. One, driving from London to Edinburgh in an Austin 1300, which had a design quirk in the earthing meaning that most radios had to be completely insulated. I thought it was but the wiring behind the steering wheel caught fire near Catterick. Second was a rogue cab in Prague who was clearly going a very long way off route and kept flicking the meter forward, we legged it like fuck at traffic lights.
Get out when the car is on fire? Nah, my first instinct was to drive my flaming MR2 to the fire station which was just around the corner from where I was. In the event as the flames grew I did park the car and a nice man in a Shadow II took me to the fire station so that I could report it.
Mobile phones? This was 1986, only the very rich had them then. Replaced the MR2 wioth an integrale.
1st car (Skoda – shhh) and managed to leave an oily rag on the engine after topping up the oil. Had to stop by a coach company in Uxbridge and rushed in to nick a fire extinghuisher from them. Abiding memory being my mother sitting next to me saying calmly “Do you think I should get out, dear?” as the smoke poured all around…
As an aside, three years later I managed to have a head-on collision near Chepstow on my honeymoon, with a coachload of Japanese tourists. And the coach was from… yep, same company. Didn’t get out of the car quite so quickly that time, but am still married somehow.
Hang on, lads; I’ve got a great idea
A few year back I was driving along in Germany minding my own business when I came across this Sunday driver who wasn’t paying attention or looking in his mirrors and rammed me off the road!
Needless to say I was rather furious and speedily got out of my car to give him a right old thump.
Once drunk as a skunk rolled my Fiat 128 Rallye and as we were piddling ourselves like school kids in the back, petrol caught fire. What amazed me, given it was a 2 door, was my mate in the back got out quicker than we did. Then we legged it leaving the car to smoulder. I didn’t go home that night…
Had to leave an Aston Martin DB5 in a hurry because the driver took offence at me pointing a gun at him. Despite our misunderstanding, he was kind enough to propel me through the roof.
Yeah, I’ve bunked out of jam jars on the hurry up, done that, and got back in to a few motors pretty sharpish too. ‘Cept for Fingers, muppet, we did this job down the high street, ran out the iron tank and tried to jump through the Tommy Trinder Duke-style but got snagged on the way in and loosed off a couple of rounds from his shooter. Drives weren’t too happy about it, well you wouldn’t be with a 9mm round lodged in yer jacksey; he got out and walked round to Fingers and lumped him right on the nose. Funniest thing I ever seen them two scrapping on the pavement. We often laugh about it. Well I do, I’m on the Costa with me bird like, having got on me toes with the wedge.
Hired Sierra, A66, black ice, quarter spin, roll, slide. umop-ap!sdn Petrol dripping out of carb onto nice warm engine.
Shortly after setting the altitude record for Curborough Sprint circuit (long story involving jammed throttles in an Alpine A110) the third thing that went through my mind was that the battery is carefully mounted just under the fuel tank in a configuration which will see the battery rammed, contacts first, through the fuel tank in the event of serious frontal impact. Had that actually happened I probably wouldn’t have been in a condition to roll out the car onto the grass, but there we go.
The first thing that went through my mind after landing had been to switch off electrics at the dash cutout (no need; impact on landing in field neighbouring the circuit had been enough to shake it into the footwell) and the second thing was to check whether I’d broken the windscreen; they’re rare as hen’s teeth you know. It wasn’t broken, but had also shaken loose and was sitting, whole, in my lap.
The weirdest bit of all was working out where on earth I was – the screen had gone blank with spray from wet grass when I first left the tarmac back on the circuit and I had other things on my mind than finding the wiper switch, so I’d been working blind to cadence brake & try to provoke a spin to the infield; all that lay ahead was the spectator banking, a hedge and a marshals’ post. I’d not managed to slow, or spin, grazed the marshals’ post, sending them diving for cover, then hit the banking & cleared the hedge. So when I emerged all I could see was grass & hedge – no tarmac, no men in orange overalls, just a lovely country field with no race meeting at all… like some sci-fi relocation novel but for real, a genuinely discomforting moment or two.
Every time I got to a drive through and order especially large racks of ribs I find myself having to get out of the car quickly to avoid being squashed. I never learn and still do it every day around 5pm local time
Didn’t happen to me but a mate had a full grown Stag leap over a stone wall and get its head stuck through the passenger side window that it had just smashed. He got out fairly sharpish and had to wait for the police, who then called the RSPCA, to deal with the still breathing beastie. Sadly they wouldn’t let him keep it, quite keen on a bit of venison!
The fastest way out of a Capri 2.8 is to spin it at 80mph and hit a tree backwards. The seat back will break and you get fired out of the back window, bit like an ejector seat. On the down side you will break a lot of bones, your family won’t recognise you when they visit you in hospital and living on hospital ‘food’ in the early eighties for two months is probably worse than the actual crash.
A guy I knew offered me a lift back to my place after a party – I didn’t have a lot of money and didn’t really want to walk 2 miles home in the dark so I accepted. He took off in the complete opposite direction of my place though, and when I told him we were going the wrong way he said I “wasn’t getting off that easy,” and he wanted “compensation” for the ride. Luckily we stopped at a red light so I wrenched the door open and went for it. He grabbed my arm, so I clocked him with my handbag and ran. He left and I sprinted all the way home in my heels. It was a 92 Honda Civic.
I was driving along with my brother on a sketchy-looking dead-end street when I saw three armed guys wearing masks. They pointed their guns at us and told us to GET OUT OF THE CAR, NOW! The road was too tight to do a u-turn or simply back-up, so we got out…
Now here comes the funny part: You see, I knew all about it… it was my brother’s surprise bachelor party and my job was to drive him there and scare the crap out of him. He got scared, mission accomplished, but damn, even I got scared when they pointed their fake paintball guns at me!
After we got out of the car my brother quickly spotted my cousin hiding behind a bush, filming it all, and realized it was a prank. Turns out I’m a great actor as everyone was telling me I looked properly scared even though I knew what was going on.
I was once invited to an interesting theme park. It was an Island where they had claimed to have “cloned dinosaurs”. Of course I was skeptical but it was paid for so I thought what the heck and jumped on the plane.
Once there I was introduced to some annoying kids, a woman who dressed like Dora the Explorer and a grumpy old git who dug up bones. We were then invited to be the first to tour the park in these new fancy Land Rover Discoveries. What was disappointing was they were on rails, so any Colin McRae-esque drifting was firmly out of the question! Still, nice car.
Once the ride started I was bored out of my mind, the only thing to amuse me flirting with Dora, I didn’t even fancy her. Just as I was impressing her with the fundamentals of chaos theory (she was blatantly up for it) the ride broke down, turns out the power went off. The slight problem being the electric fences keeping the dinosaurs away from our pristine 4×4’s went offline too! The ground starts shaking and out jumps a T-rex!! I literally shat my pants. I left the kids to their fate and Usain Bolted outta there. They ended up dropping a nuke on the island, good riddance I say.
05 Audi A3 oil burner on the ‘contractors road’ near Loch Lomond and Faslane. Spirited attempt to drive home on weekend leave I had a strong burning smell in the cabin. Gave it another couple of miles before bailing onto a verge on the A82 and calling the fire brigade. By the time I had explained where I was the smell had subsided. Then cue all my mates from the naval base pointing and laughing at me sat by an apparently benign car. Turns out the brake calliper had seized and Mr fire person advised not driving it. I thanked him for the advice, got a low loader home to West Yorkshire.
Tried to bin a lit cigarette out of the window (yes I know it’s littering, bad me) in my brand new Golf, a week after passing my test. Said cigarette did not go anywhere and ended up down the back of my shirt.
I was 17, I was with my mate Jase in his banana yellow Mk1 Escort, we were on our way to a campsite, and our other mates Pete and Matt were following in Pete’s Mini Clubman.
The campsite was down a narrow, unfamiliar country lane so being sensible grown ups we were doing our best to imitate McRae and Grist with me shouting out dangerously uncertain pace notes based on the road atlas in my hand, Jase adhering religiously to the mantra “when in doubt flat out” and Pete doing his level best to keep up.
What I hadn’t anticipated was the fork in the road we encountered flat in 3rd. Jase shouts, “Which way?”, I shout, “I dunno!”, Jase slams on and slides to a halt, we then look at each other as we hear Pete lock up behind us, and …. BANG!
Now, I mentioned we were going camping. Within the following few seconds we looked behind at Pete desperately thumping his steering wheel in anguish, then we looked at each other again and simultaneously yelled “PROPANE!!!” as we both remembered the gas bottle in the boot.
I can only imagine the view Pete and Matt had as Jase and I threw open our respective doors and dived SAS-like into the bushes either side of the car, where we stayed for some considerable time.
Fortunately it turns out propane bottles are more robust than we thought and there was no explosion. Until Jase and Pete regained their senses and started the argument about whose fault it was.
There I am cruising the red light zone for a bit tail in my 1967 Pontiac GTO.
Full disclosure : it’s actually a 1986 Chevy Nova.
When this sweet ass piece of loveliness gets me in her sights and wanders over. Of course she wants to pay me and I’m like “babe I’m paying, it’s my thing”
Full disclosure : I can hardly afford to buy whiskey any more.
On the road up to Makeout Point I reach over to warm her up Dousche style and find something I wasn’t expecting under his skirt. How fast did I jump out of that car? Dude, my brogues left skidmarks.
Full disclosure : It hurt at first.
I had to get out of a Citroen Xantia in a hurry which had become overrun with flying ants.
Quite a few years ago I gave my mate Rich Porter a lift to the shops in my old school Rover Mini. As we pulled into a parking space he noticed a strange device amongst all the crap I collected on the dashboard and asked what it was. ‘This is an attack alarm,’ I explained, picking it up. I worked in a dodgy area and had been given it by my boss. ‘If this pin came out now,’ I continued. ‘We would both be literally deafened…’ At which point the pin “fell” out. You’ve never seen two grown men get out of a tiny car so fast.
When we were kids, my parents had a Triumph Spitfire which usually had the hard top on due to the weather (and leaky soft top). My brother and I would be sat on the bench seat at the back.
One day, as we were going up a ramp in a car park in Reading, white smoke started pouring out of the glove compartment which mum had a bottle of vodka in that we were taking to a friend’s.
Cue parents stopping the car abruptly and bailing out, leaving us kids in the back having to clamber over the seats to get out.
Fortunately it didn’t explode or anything and with the engine off the smoke went away (usual Spitfire dodgy wiring, made ‘better’ by my dad. Wire was too thin for the current and the insulation melted).
I once tried to jump the Cheddar Gorge in my car but realised I wasn’t going to get to the far side. I calmly waited until the car was just 8″ from the floor and jumped out smartly. I still twisted my ankle though as it was like stepping off a high kerb. I should have waited a bit longer.
I was filming in Argentina…
Got out of my car to chase Tony Stewart down to shake my fist at him, and potentially engage in hand to hand combat. Unfortunately, I lost a quick fight to the tail section of his sprint car, as he induced throttle on oversteer to “avoid hitting me.”
Object: To establish if an iced over lake will support the weight of a Hillman Imp and 4 adults.
Equipment: 1 x Hillman Imp. Me. 3 mates. 1 x Frozen Lake.
Method: Get mildly bladdered at pub. Drive onto iced over lake.
Result: Hilman Imp travelled approximately 50 yards before falling through ice.
Conclusion: An iced over lake will not support the weight of a Hillman Imp and 3 adults.
^^ Presumably it fell in backwards, due to odd engine location?
Still a hell of a way to dip your headlights.
I needed to get out of a car in a hurry when my 1984 Austin Maestro 1.3 HLE caught fire whilst placing an order at a Burger King drive-through. Wanting to get the car away from the fast food outlet as quickly as possible, I quickly drove the (still-running) car round the corner, into…
… The adjoining petrol station.
Several buckets of sand later, the fire was out. What a lovely car that was.
^^ So that’s where flame-grilled Whoppers come from…
Le Mans 2005, Houx campsite, undercooked circuit Poulet Frites kicking in, made it back to campsite toilets faster than LMP1 cars, abandoned Focus Estate (company car) with two bemused and frankly scared passengers with rear wheels locked and car still travelling forward. Made it inside plastic cubicle of death before car even came to a halt…
3x Tuna & Cheese Jacket Potatoes, it transpires, are too much for any man (even a legendary amphetamine hound in a daft hat).
Cue emergency egress from vehicle as jacket spuds attempted to exit from same point as entry.
That’s my story. And I’m sticking to it. Alright?
I’ve done the opposite….when my car” took itself” out of park on an incline and decided to start rolling towards the village pond….I got IN quicker than a train cancellation on a cold day.
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Well-oiled car correspondent’s great lost novel is published at last, as he explains here
Brain boffins brand fresh form of mind maddery
Freddie Bulliard of the Gas Dandy website, merchandise business and podcast recounts a visit to last week’s Esposizione di Stile