A crazy ride with a crazy driver

                                                                                                                                                   

-LittleFawn    

(A Tale of Reckless Roads and Nerves of Steel)

It was a weekend steeped in expectation and mild irritation. Our family had finally accepted an invitation from a persistent relative. Lunch had been promised, and we also needed to move a piece of furniture from their home to ours—two birds with one stone.

Lunch was uneventful, though the subtle clinking of utensils occasionally punctuated awkward silences. The real adventure began afterward, as we called a mini-truck to transport the furniture.

That’s when he arrived—the driver.

He seemed ordinary at first. Polite, even.

“This will be quick,” he said with a smile, his voice calm and reassuring.

I was tasked with riding in the mini-truck to guide him to our home. “How bad could it be?” I thought.

Moments later, I realized how foolish that thought had been.

The drive began smoothly. A lullaby of tires meeting the asphalt. But this peace didn’t last.

Without warning, he pushed the accelerator like he was auditioning for a racing movie. At a sharp bend, he abruptly stopped—not for a red light or pedestrian—but to wave and chat with someone standing on the sidewalk.

Yes, the middle of the road. A busy one, at that.

“Are you serious right now?” I muttered under my breath. My grip on the seat tightened as horns blared behind us.

He resumed driving, weaving through traffic with the aggression of a predator chasing prey. “Outta my way!” he yelled, sticking his head out of the window.

Soon, we approached a familiar route to my house. I gestured toward it, but he waved me off.

“I know a shortcut,” he said confidently.

His “shortcut” led us down an unfamiliar path. Anxiety prickled my spine. Scenarios from crime thrillers flashed in my mind. What if he abducts me? What if he’s some deranged lunatic?

But amidst my spiraling thoughts, I felt a strange thrill. The unpredictability of it all was oddly exhilarating.

The shortcut revealed more than just new scenery. It also showcased the driver’s startling lack of tact.

An elderly man was strolling leisurely along the footpath.

“Move faster, old geezer!” the driver bellowed. “Why aren’t you dead yet?”

He roared with laughter, completely ignoring my sharp glare. “Don’t you think that was unnecessary?” I asked, my tone clipped.

He shrugged. “I’m just honest!”

His shortcut turned into a swampy, pothole-ridden detour. He cursed the road management officials for the mess—never mind that he had chosen this path.

He sped through the muddy lanes like a man possessed, narrowly missing a collision with a truck. My breath caught in my throat. For someone typically as calm as a mountain, I felt chills spread through my body.

“Close one!” he said, grinning, as if this near-death experience was just part of his daily routine.

As we neared my destination, he inexplicably missed the correct turn, barreling past it without hesitation. We ended up several streets away and had to circle back. His shortcut had morphed into an epic detour, stretching what should’ve been a 20-minute ride into an hour-long ordeal.

When we finally arrived, I staggered out of the truck, equal parts relieved and exasperated. The furniture made it, but my nerves were shredded.

Looking back, I can’t say I hated the experience. Yes, the driver was reckless, infuriating, and borderline unhinged. But the ride had an odd charm. I got to explore new parts of town, though not in the way I’d hoped.

Would I want to relive it? Definitely not. But for what it was—a chaotic adventure—I can’t help but laugh now.

. Maybe that’s just how life goes sometimes.