One night I was out late, and my family had all left already when I awoke in the late morning. I was running late to meet some friends, so I hurriedly got ready, jumped in my vintage 1972 VW Superbeetle, opened the sunroof, turned on the music, and took off. It was a bright sunshiney day in Southern California.

This car was old and had quirks, one of which was a notch in the steering column that tended to get stuck when you took a right turn, to the point that you had to force it through it and back a bit. Another was that the sunroof leaked just a touch—not too often an issue in SoCal.

Just as I accelerated out of the first turn from my street (a right), suddenly, there was a torrent that came crashing down inside the car from the sunroof, timed perfectly with the steering wheel notch sticking. Next thing I know, there's a light-post (one of those giant industrial concrete ones) less than a foot from my face and I see chunks of my hair in the shattered safety glass (When it stays intact, it literally can shave your hair off. Of course, it leaves tiny little glass shards embedded in you for good measure).

During my slumber, sometime between arriving home and dawn, my younger sister's friends had TP'd the house and one kindly vomited on top of the closed sunroof. My stepfather thoroughly cleaned it up with a hose and lots of water, which stored up in the sunroof frame and unleashed itself at just the right (wrong) time.