Hot and sweaty but only along my right side

1985 - I got custody of Grandpa's car when he lost the ability to drive. It was a 1974 Buick, a huge rectangle of a car, light blue.

I was night manager of a business that was open until 9 pm, so I had to lock up after the employees were all signed out for the night. We worked one night in December that was unusually cold, and after I locked the offices and got out to the snowy parking lot, there were only two cars remaining, mine and the one Nicole and Nell came in. Their car wouldn't start and I lacked jumper cables.

Nicole and Nell were a matched pair as far as their weights, around 240 pounds apiece. When they asked for a ride home, it was not a tough question because the Buick could easily carry all of us and a couple more, if needed. Nicole and Nell were right there beside me, purses in hand, when we found that my car's back doors were frozen shut on both sides.

My eyes shifted from them to the front seat as I made some mental calculations of what would be feasible, and they started to laugh. Both front doors still worked and the three of us got in on the front seat. I was built like a blade of grass and found that if I reached to the right, I still could get both hands on the steering wheel. They lived on the west side so it was a lengthy ride across town and we could not stop laughing.

Remembering anecdotes of the worst incidents involving the local cops, we could've been pulled over by an officer curious to know what a skinny white boy was doing with two full-figured African-American women in such high spirits, and why they felt the need to share the front seat with me in a massive sedan on the rough side of town long after dark. No problem, and I had forgotten about it for years until I started remembering cars I used to have.

And that's why Chicago is known as the City of Decorum

The sign on the CTA bus yesterday had many of the usual prohibitions, plus one that caught my eye:
All the rules are illustrated with a little symbol covered by a red diagonal line. The "NO WEAPONS" rule has a handgun covered by the red slash.

So here's the scenario imagined by the Chicago Transit Authority: A citizen is about to get on the bus when he sees the sign, a friendly reminder. Suddenly he remembers he's carrying a Luger. Sensitive to the potential embarrassment of discovery, the citizen discreetly retreats and returns home to put his gun safely away before going out.