My uncle was a thoroughbred trainer, but typically he kept his horses at one particular farm. During the Spring and Summer I worked at a couple of the training farms (where ever the horses were being kept for him and another trainer) primarily as a hot walker or whatever else crap (literally) job they needed done that day.

One afternoon my uncle calls and tells me that we are going to Louisiana Downs and could I meet him at the farm to get a couple of the horses loaded and that I would be riding with the horses, while he rode with the owner and we'd meet at the stables. Once we got the horses unloaded and in their stables, we piled into the guys really nice white 4-door Cadillac and headed out to one of the nicest restaurants that I had ever eaten at.

After a fantastic meal, we walk back to the car and we all jump in to head to the hotel. The guy tries for a minute or so to get the key into the ignition all the while cussing like a sailor, when my uncle finally speaks up and says, "I don't think this is your car." Sure enough, we'd gotten into the wrong white Cadillac - his was parked a few slots down.