Help?
I ride in a lot of cabs, going either to or from the airport. Most of them have the same sign plastered on the don’t-shoot-the-driver plexiglass panel: “Ask driver if you need help with your seatbelt.” So I always do.
So far, apparently, I don’t need help. At least not with my seatbelt.
I had to read that a couple of times till it sunk in. Then I laughed really loud. At my desk. At the office.