Bitter Toe Separation BFG’s

TikTok is full of of crazy, cringy, and outrageous content, but only if YOU are crazy, cringy and outrageous. The thing about TikTok and other social medias is that you guide where it should go for you. Because the algorithm watches you like a hawk and delivers stuff that you asked for. So if your content is degenerate, that means you are a degen.

That was proven the other day when I got a TikTok that said in the captions “I toed my boyfriends car.” If you believe that toed, should have been spelled towed, you would normally be right. But in this instance, it was a girl with her shoes off, rubbing her feet, and conversely her toes all over his car. So the caption made sense. While cringy, I had to respect it, because as a father with a sense of humor, I appreciated the father joke. However, it also brought me back to a dark place in my life, when Toe Mater’s have stood between me and the love of my life.

Three experiences prove my hypothesis. I’ve had cars towed three memorable times in my life, and each time, they came between me and my love.

My first experience started with a tow and ended two weeks later with a second tow. On my way home from work, I got T-Boned by a car full of prom goers. The following two weeks included not one, but two speeding tickets, one of which was issued by the cop that appeared at the scene of my accident (but didn’t remember my horrible accident and still issued me a ticket). Since my original car got towed, I lost my parking pass to the college I was going to. I had to borrow my grandma’s old car, and had to park two miles from my college, but since I didn’t have that parking sticker (it was being crushed along with my car in the junkyard) I had to park in a nearby church that was two miles away from campus. So after a frustrating day of school, I hiked the two miles back to the church, only to behold that my grandma’s car was not there. Stomach floored. First, my Honda was in the wreckyards, and now my Grandma’s car got snapped by Thanos? Nope. It was towed.

Since it was 1998, no cell phones. So I had to walk across the street to a store and ask if I could use their phone. Can I get my car back? How much? Can I get a ride to my car? Oh, you don’t have anyone available to drive me to get my car? How will I get it? Oh, I can walk? How far is it? Oh, only 6 miles? Awwwesome. So I only have to walk six miles in complete anger, frustration, and bitterness? The worst part? For two weeks, I was separated from my one true love…the couch, napping while watching TV.

The next experience was quite bitter because it happened on Christmas Day, the biggest couch/nap day of the year. Picture a Bitter Ben on Christmas day, 1998. Single, living on his own. The only people nearby was my sister. She invited me over on Christmas Day to watch her and husband and kids open present after present, in order to create envy. I got one small package from my parents. In it: A Dilbert Calendar, a polo shirt with a Discovery Logo on it (probably a promo shirt they got for free for signing up for Discovery) and an orange. Instead of thinking of all the kids that Santa forgot, I chose to pity myself, and left the house not only bitter, but jealous. Instead of doing the smart thing, and spending more time with my true love, the couch and nap, I left with bitterness and without changing out of my pajamas, I drove up to Ogden to see some friends in hopes of getting sympathy and more importantly, a nap on the couch.

Instead my parent’s busted up Oldsmobile had other plans. In the hour and half trip to Ogden, the traffic was playing a joke on me, by making it seem like the easiest drive ever. Just over halfway to my destination, the engine splutters, smokes, and I pull off at the closest exit, to give my car the chance to overcome its hangover. It was throwing up all over the road with some green liquid and I knew that my car would soon have to be put out of its misery and euthanized. I pushed it to a local mechanic, so they could officially declare it dead. But that left me on the side of the road, on Christmas Day, in my PJ’s, 17 miles from my friends couch, and 60 miles from my couch.

Back to present day (almost). Nine days ago, it was a sunny Sunday afternoon. Our family was already down to two cars, because my car decided to quit its job, and go into early retirement, even though we brought it to get heart surgery (battery). The three of us, (me, my wife, and son) were already sharing the remaining two cars, (one that we were already going to replace). My son was taking the one reliable car (we thought) to visit his girlfriend, which was about 40 miles away. I had just got home from doing my church duties and was about ready to have a nice reunion with my couch, and take a nap, when my wife received a call from the boy. I immediately knew something was wrong and my whole afternoon schedule with my couch was at heavy risk. I can’t remember what my wife said, but she was like, dad will come get you, and I’ll call the towing company. There I was, in my mind going, “Are you even kidding me? No nap?”

So I bitterly looked at the comfortable pillow and the long spot I created on the couch, just for me, that I was going to nap with for a good hour to an hour and a half. I looked longingly at the blanket that would keep me cozy and warm. I imagined the wild dreams of clouds and marshmallows that I would dream about in my semi-catatonic state. I mourned for that nap I knew I wouldn’t get. I reached my hand out toward the couch, but was woken from my trance when my wife rudely interrupted me. “Bitter Ben, you’ve been staring at the couch for five minutes. Shouldn’t you grab the keys and pick up our son?” I proclaimed a little too loudly, “Oh yeah, our son. What was the deal with him?” before quickly remembering the car.

Little did I know, that at 1:50 pm, that would be the last time I would see the couch until 9:00 pm that night. The separation anxiety gave me an anxiety attack. There were massive roadblocks (get it, cause the car was on the road?) that stood in the way of my reunion with the couch that night. There were the hours of waiting on the road in our one operating car sitting behind the “reliable” one that needed a tow. There were the angry calls to the tow company, insurance company and the President of Romania who all promised that they would 100% be there at 3:00 pm, and again at 3:50 pm, then 4:30 pm, 5:45 pm, 6:30 pm When did they get there? The only time they didn’t promise. 7:30 pm. We would have had a great excuse to miss the get together at my sister’s which started at 7:00 pm. But no…my wife insisted that after sitting for 5 hours in a hot car waiting for the tow truck that instead of reuniting with me with my couch, we would show up late to my sister’s get together.

So there I was, once again, being separated from my couch, because of the incompetence of yet another tow company. It seems that Tow Mater’s have a vendetta out on my and my couch. As such, I am making it my life’s mission to get revenge upon towing companies. I will destroy them all.

Until I the day I exact my revenge against the tow companies, free access will be granted to the Bitter Friday Giftures…

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