It was an ordinary September morning when I grabbed my mom's keys off the hook and prepared for what would be a chaotic drive. She was on vacation and I was enjoying my last day of not having to ask for permission to go where I pleased. I opened the door to my garage, unlocked the car, and slid into the driver's seat, confident as ever. I could already taste my Panera grilled cheese as I queued my favorite song. With Freddie Mercury serenading me through the speaker, I shifted the car to reverse, naive to the damage I was about to enact. Almost immediately, I heard an alarming noise. The car had smashed into the back of the garage door. I suddenly realized I had forgotten to open the door before backing out. I took a deep breath, and prepared to put the car back in drive. There was no damage so I took this unfortunate event as a signal that I should have just stayed home. I pressed the gas again. To my surprise, I hit the door again. This time even harder. In the time I had spent taking my deep breath, I had forgotten to put the car in drive so it was still in reverse, and the garage door was still closed. Thankfully, there was no damage to my mom's car, just a gaping hole in my garage. I was freaking out. There was no way I was going to be able to replace an entire garage door in one day. I called my friend who said he had experience with repairing accidents of this nature. He laughed at me for at least thirty minutes before attempting a repair job which ended up making it even worse. I knew my fate was inevitable. I called my mom, and to my surprise she laughed too. Well, that was after she told me I was never allowed to drive her car again.
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