u/darwhyte

I feel that MVIs in New Brunswick can be a huge rip-off depending on where you go.

I've heard many stories over the years of people taking their vehicle for an MVI being taken advantage of by garages.

When you take your vehicle in for an MVI you are at the mercy of whatever garage you take it to, and whatever repairs/replacements they say you need you have no choice but to have done whatever they say, because if not, your vehicle will not be allowed on the road. It's like government sanctioned extortion.

What is your opinion of MVIs in New Brunswick? Have you ever been ripped off or taken advantage of? If so, what's your story?

​

Things we did as children we can laugh at now

Sometimes as children we found ourselves in a bathroom crisis.

This is my story.

When I was 6 years old I was with my parents when they parked In front of a store. They told me they were only going to be in there for a few minutes, and they wanted me to wait in the car. They made it VERY CLEAR that I was to wait for them to come out and UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES was I to leave the car and come into the store, so I waited in the car, as I was told to do.

A few minutes later I had to use the bathroom REALLY bad. REALLY BAD. I thought about going into the store but I was worried about getting into trouble for leaving the car, so I contemplated what to do, then I saw a brown paper Zellers shopping bag on the floor.

Hallelujah!

I pulled down my drawers and deposited a HUGE Cleveland Steamer right into the brown paper bag.

Relief!

But the satisfaction of relief quickly passed as I realized that now I have another problem:

What do I do with the bag of shit that is now in the car? I knew if my parents found out that I did that I would be in trouble, so the solution my 6 year old brain came up with was to slide the bag under the front seat to hide it, so that’s what I did, slid the bag with the fragrant log in it right under where my Father would be sitting while he drove the car.

A few minutes later my parents return, with me sitting innocently like a little angel in the back seat. My parents got into the car and told me they were proud of me for being a good little boy and doing as I was told.

Dad settles into his seat, starts up the car, then starts sniffing. He sniffs some more and looks at my mother and says, “Carolyn, do you smell shit?”

“Yes Bobby I do!”, she replied.

“For the love of Christ, get him in the tub as soon as we get home!”, my father gasped.

So we get home and I am promptly put in the tub.

The next day we get into the car to go somewhere. My Father just gets settled into his seat, then looks at my mother and says, “Jesus Christ Carolyn! I thought you said you washed him yesterday!”

“Yes I did Bobby!”

“Well you didn’t do a very good fucking job then, because he fucking smells like a ripe fucking shithouse in a Goddamned heat wave!”

“Shut up Bobby, I’ll wash him again when we get back home.”

So we went about our business as the smell in the car was intense and unbearable. We had all four widows down, but the July heat kept things good and pungent.

We FINALLY get back home after being accompanied by a CONSTANT chorus of foul language coming from my Father.

Back into the tub I go.

My Morher cleaned me extra good, and really scrubbed my bum. I leave the tub clean as a whistle, not a hint or a mere sniff of shit smell. Problem resolved.

The NEXT time we got in the car we were going to pick my grandmother up to take her somewhere.

My Father settles into his seat.

Starts the car up. A few seconds later, he slams his fist down onto the dash, looks at my Mother, and roars, “I STILL SMELL SHIT! I STILL SMELL FUCKING SHIT!!!!!!”

“Bobby! Calm down! I fucking told you I washed him! AND, I checked him before we got into the car, and he did not smell like shit! I smell shit too, suffering Jesus, but I can fucking tell you it IS NOT coming from him!”

“Then where’s it coming from, Carolyn?”

“I don’t fucking know Bobby!”

We pick my Grandmother up. The smell in the car is PURE TORTURE! I could tell my Grandmother was REALLY suffering as we MARINATED IN THE STENCH, but she did not want to be rude, so she suffered in silence with the rest of us.

Finally my Father comes right onto the brakes, pulls the car over, breaks the uncomfortable silence and screams, “I can’t take it anymore!”

“THERE’S SHIT SOMEWHERE IN THIS GODDAMNED FUCKING CAAAAAAARRRRRRR!!!!!!”

“I FUCKING KNOW IT, AND IF I HAVE TO TEAR THIS GODDAMNED FUCKING CAR COMPLETELY APART TO FIND IT, THAT’S WHAT I’LL GODDAMNED DO!!!”

We all get out of the car and he starts sniffing around. He noticed the smell was stronger closer to the floor.

When I slid the bag of shit under the seat, I didn’t roll up the end of the bag, so one end of the bag was open.

My Father is sniffing around and feeling around everywhere.

He slides his hand under the seat on the passenger side and feels around.

Nothing.

He slides his had under the seat on the drivers side and feels around........

Something.

Something soft and squishy.

As he was feeling around under the seat, he slid his hand right into the open side of the bag.......

Then an expression of PURE PANIC comes across his face as he recoils his hand in horror!

He leapt out of the car, stood on the side of the road with traffic driving by, looks at his hand right in front of his face, SHIT all over his fingers!

“FFFUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKMMKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

After a VERY SOUND yelling at, I did indeed survive and live to tell this bathroom emergency story and laugh about it years later.

​

One time when I was 5 we were at a camp on Davidson lake.  I saw a chocolate bar on the kitchen counter.  I reached for it, and my father grabbed it, told me I couldn't have it, and put it up on a high shelf that I couldn't reach.

I waited until later when all the grown ups were drinking, climbed up onto the cupboards and grabbed the chocolate bar, and ate the WHOLE thing.

About 20 minutes later, a strange sensation started to overcome me and my stomach started to rumble.

Then, the floodgates, or should I say, shitgates opened up.  I stumbled like a drinking man into the room where all the grown ups were, COVERED in shit, leaving a trail of shit behind me, STILL shitting.

My parents, who were planning on spending the night there, suddenly had their plans abruptly interrupted.  They were both half cut, WELL BEYOND .08, and now they somehow had to drunkenly rush me to the hospital, about 25 minutes away.

If you haven't guessed it by now, the chocolate bar was Ex-lax!

Mom and Dad in a panic drunkenly stuffed the STILL SHITTING me in the car, and Dad roared down the road.  In my parents rush to get me to the hospital, Dad was driving like a possessed Mario Andretti, well past the legal speed limit.

WE GOT PULLED OVER BY THE COPS!!!

When Dad rolled down his window, the cop looked into a COMPLETELY SHIT COATED car interior, two drunk adults covered in shit in the front seat, and a 5 year old in the back seat, STILL shitting!

The smell from the car made the police officer spasm in uncontrollable dry heaves.

Dad hurriedly explained to the gasping and suffering police officer what had happened, and the police offer, glad to get away from the car turned on his siren and escorted us to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital, sirens blaring!

The emergency doors swung open as two shit covered adults spilled in carrying me STILL shitting!

No need to explain the emergency!

They kept me there for a while, gave me lots of electrolytes and sent me home.

Ex-Lax

One time when I was 5 we were at a camp on Davidson lake.  I saw a chocolate bar on the kitchen counter.  I reached for it, and my father grabbed it, told me I couldn't have it, and put it up on a high shelf that I couldn't reach.

I waited until later when all the grown ups were drinking, climbed up onto the cupboards and grabbed the chocolate bar, and ate the WHOLE thing.

About 20 minutes later, a strange sensation started to overcome me and my stomach started to rumble.

Then, the floodgates, or should I say, shitgates opened up.  I stumbled like a drinking man into the room where all the grown ups were, COVERED in shit, leaving a trail of shit behind me, STILL shitting.

My parents, who were planning on spending the night there, suddenly had their plans abruptly interrupted.  They were both half cut, WELL BEYOND .08, and now they somehow had to drunkenly rush me to the hospital, about 25 minutes away.

If you haven't guessed it by now, the chocolate bar was Ex-lax!

Mom and Dad in a panic drunkenly stuffed the STILL SHITTING me in the car, and Dad roared down the road.  In my parents rush to get me to the hospital, Dad was driving like a possessed Mario Andretti, well past the legal speed limit.

WE GOT PULLED OVER BY THE COPS!!!

When Dad rolled down his window, the cop looked into a COMPLETELY SHIT COATED car interior, two drunk adults covered in shit in the front seat, and a 5 year old in the back seat, STILL shitting!

The smell from the car made the police officer spasm in uncontrollable dry heaves.

Dad hurriedly explained to the gasping and suffering police officer what had happened, and the police offer, glad to get away from the car turned on his siren and escorted us to the hospital.

We arrived at the hospital, sirens blaring!

The emergency doors swung open as two shit covered adults spilled in carrying me STILL shitting!

No need to explain the emergency!

They kept me there for a while, gave me lots of electrolytes and sent me home.

As many of us here can relate, growing up in the 70s and 80s was great. Without all the technology that exists today, we spent the majority of our childhoods playing outside for hours with no parental or any other adult supervision to keep an eye on what we were up to. Children, when left to their own devices can come up with some pretty crazy ideas to say the least.

I, like most of us, had a bicycle that I tore around on every day. One day my back tire was flat. I took the back wheel off and removed the tire and tube and held the bare rim in my hands. The bicycle needed a new tube.

I loved that bicycle and drove it every day. I knew my Father would eventually buy me a new tube, but I would have to hound him for weeks. So I put the bare rim back on the bike with the intention of waiting for the new tube.

The next day I got up, ran outside to go somewhere on my bike, and oh yeah, the bare rim stuck out like a sore thumb, the harsh reality of not being able to use my bicycle that day coming over me.

The next day, the same thing. It was almost like torture to watch the other kids having so much fun on their bikes while I had to sit idly on the curb, wishing I was also doing what they were doing.

After a few days of staring at the bare rim an idea popped in my head. Why don't I try to drive the bike with the bare rim and see if it will work? So I jumped on it and proceeded to pedal. At first it pedaled hard, but as I gained momentum the pedaling became much easier. Next thing I know, to my supreme delight, I was flying down the street like a speeding comet.

Not having a tire on the back rim didn't really effect much, as long as it was on a hard surface like the sidewalk or pavement. On soft surfaces like grass, sand or mud, not so much. But as stated earlier it moved like a scared rabbit on a hard surface.

There was also another unique feature of the bare rim that we became aware of quite quickly. The bike had coaster breaks. Coaster brakes were on older bicycles. Coaster brakes operated by moving the pedals in a backward motion. This would cause the pedals to lock up, and the back wheel to lock up. While the brakes were applied, the bare back wheel slid across the pavement as it was locked up and that caused sparks to fly. MANY sparks, in every direction and distance you could imagine!

The bicycle swiftly got dubbed, "The Spark Machine", by the neighborhood kids. The Spark Machine was an instant hit, EVERY kid wanted to try it. Word spread and kids from other nearby neighborhoods that we rarely seen had become common because THEY were now coming to have THEIR turn on The Spark Machine. It definately was the buzz of the area, and it looked especially dazzling at dusk, as the sparks became increasingly illuminated by the oncoming darkness.

This was fine and all, but we were GENERATION X kids. WE ALWAYS had to take things up another notch, or two, as close to extreme as possible.

One of the kids saw The Spark Machine and the first thing they thought..........GASOLINE!

So we come up with a covert operation where some of us would sneak some gasoline. Then we would pour a great big puddle of it on the street, have someone drive onto the pool of gasoline and slam on the brakes to activate the sparks and see what would happen.

So we picked the STEEPEST street in the neighborhood with the biggest hill, and SATURATED the pavement at the bottom of the hill in gasoline.

I was at the top of the hill on The Spark Machine. As I paused at the precipice of the hill I looked down, WAAAAYYYY down at the bottom of the hill at the crowd of kids that had gathered. They looked up and saw The Spark Machine paused at the crest of the hill and began to chant in anticipation.

Slowly I moved The Spark Machine forward over the crest. As The Spark Machine plummeted down the hill it gained momentum and reached break-neck speeds. It was too late to turn back now. I got to the gasoline saturated pavement and slammed on the brakes.

Sparkes flew and the street ERUPTED in a huge ball of flames, and out I emerged unscathed as the flames danced behind me amongst the throngs of cheers from the neighborhood kids.

Then the moment was suddenly shatterd by an adult voice, "Hey, what the hell is going on here?!"

We all scattered stealthy through the dusk in every direction imaginable, with the early night sky illuminated behind us from the still burning flames.

WE were GENERATION X. When WE played, WE played HARD!

As many of us here can relate, growing up in the 70s and 80s was great. Without all the technology that exists today, we spent the majority of our childhoods playing outside for hours with no parental or any other adult supervision to keep an eye on what we were up to. Children, when left to their own devices can come up with some pretty crazy ideas to say the least.

I, like most of us, had a bicycle that I tore around on every day. One day my back tire was flat. I took the back wheel off and removed the tire and tube and held the bare rim in my hands. The bicycle needed a new tube.

I loved that bicycle and drove it every day. I knew my Father would eventually buy me a new tube, but I would have to hound him for weeks. So I put the bare rim back on the bike with the intention of waiting for the new tube.

The next day I got up, ran outside to go somewhere on my bike, and oh yeah, the bare rim stuck out like a sore thumb, the harsh reality of not being able to use my bicycle that day coming over me.

The next day, the same thing. It was almost like torture to watch the other kids having so much fun on their bikes while I had to sit idly on the curb, wishing I was also doing what they were doing.

After a few days of staring at the bare rim an idea popped in my head. Why don't I try to drive the bike with the bare rim and see if it will work? So I jumped on it and proceeded to pedal. At first it pedaled hard, but as I gained momentum the pedaling became much easier. Next thing I know, to my supreme delight, I was flying down the street like a speeding comet.

Not having a tire on the back rim didn't really effect much, as long as it was on a hard surface like the sidewalk or pavement. On soft surfaces like grass, sand or mud, not so much. But as stated earlier it moved like a scared rabbit on a hard surface.

There was also another unique feature of the bare rim that we became aware of quite quickly. The bike had coaster breaks. Coaster brakes were on older bicycles. Coaster brakes operated by moving the pedals in a backward motion. This would cause the pedals to lock up, and the back wheel to lock up. While the brakes were applied, the bare back wheel slid across the pavement as it was locked up and that caused sparks to fly. MANY sparks, in every direction and distance you could imagine!

The bicycle swiftly got dubbed, "The Spark Machine", by the neighborhood kids. The Spark Machine was an instant hit, EVERY kid wanted to try it. Word spread and kids from other nearby neighborhoods that we rarely seen had become common because THEY were now coming to have THEIR turn on The Spark Machine. It definately was the buzz of the area, and it looked especially dazzling at dusk, as the sparks became increasingly illuminated by the oncoming darkness.

This was fine and all, but we were GENERATION X kids. WE ALWAYS had to take things up another notch, or two, as close to extreme as possible.

One of the kids saw The Spark Machine and the first thing they thought..........GASOLINE!

So we come up with a covert operation where some of us would sneak some gasoline. Then we would pour a great big puddle of it on the street, have someone drive onto the pool of gasoline and slam on the brakes to activate the sparks and see what would happen.

So we picked the STEEPEST street in the neighborhood with the biggest hill, and SATURATED the pavement at the bottom of the hill in gasoline.

I was at the top of the hill on The Spark Machine. As I paused at the precipice of the hill I looked down, WAAAAYYYY down at the bottom of the hill at the crowd of kids that had gathered. They looked up and saw The Spark Machine paused at the crest of the hill and began to chant in anticipation.

Slowly I moved The Spark Machine forward over the crest. As The Spark Machine plummeted down the hill it gained momentum and reached break-neck speeds. It was too late to turn back now. I got to the gasoline saturated pavement and slammed on the brakes.

Sparkes flew and the street ERUPTED in a huge ball of flames, and out I emerged unscathed as the flames danced behind me amongst the throngs of cheers from the neighborhood kids.

Then the moment was suddenly shatterd by an adult voice, "Hey, what the hell is going on here?!"

We all scattered stealthy through the dusk in every direction imaginable, with the early night sky illuminated behind us from the still burning flames.

WE were GENERATION X. When WE played, WE played HARD!

What were some of your favorite crank calls to pull back in the day?

When I was a teenager, we used to call random phone numbers at 2:00 AM. We would let it ring and ring and ring until someone finally picked up. When they answered we'd say, "We're just calling to tell you it's 2:00 AM in the morning. Get the hell off the phone and go to bed you idiot!"

We all did this back in the day, sometimes my sides would be hurting from laughing.

What are your memories of this?