I try to be understanding of people; we’re all on different journeys. But once in a while we just come across an absolute numbnuts. Let me tell you about a guy named Dave, whose logic puzzled me.
I commuted with Dave and some guys at the beginning of college. On Monday morning of Dave’s first week to drive, he introduced us to his car: “The Beast.” The same thought crossed all of our minds: we might die today.
The Beast was old; older than all of us. It had faded maroon paint and quite a bit of rust. Realizing we just needed to get to school, we piled into The Beast — assuming everything was in perfect operational order — and were on our way.
We were your typical teenagers, so I took a nap. At some point, my slumber was ROCKED by someone screaming: “Joe! Wake Up! Get out of the car!”
It took me a second to shake my grogginess and figure out what happened. Panic set in when I realized The Beast died on us — in a tollbooth. I hussled out of the car and helped push. Dave steered us to the shoulder.
Exhausted from our efforts and freaking out, I thought: what in the hell are we going to do now?
Keen to our distress, Dave tried to calm us down: “DON’T WORRY GUYS!”
He popped the hood, retrieved a battery and cables from the trunk, hooked them up, and jump-started The Beast. I never thought I would be so elated to hear that shitty old engine sputtering away.
We all looked at each other — like we just witnessed a miracle. Dave proceeded to put the good battery back in the trunk. We piled into the Beast and were on our way.
The burning question in my mind was … why in the hell isn’t the “good battery” installed under the hood? It may not come as a surprise, but Dave did not graduate.