Thursday, August 25, 2005

A Sunday Drive

The story you are about to read is true. The names have been changed, in daring Quentin Tarantino-esque style, to protect the innocent.

I know a guy. He won't be renamed, because he won't be appearing again in the story.

This guy knows a guy. Let's call him Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink is in a high-end auto enthusiast's club. Let's call it Club Brown.

Because of his membership in Club Brown, Mr. Pink knows a guy. Let's call him Mr. Orange.

Mr. Orange just bought a new Mercedes-Benz that cost $120,000. Because Mr. Orange knows Mr. Pink enjoys high-performance automobiles, he invites Mr. Pink to come over last weekend and take a ride.

Mr. Pink is looking forward to it.

When Mr. Pink arrives, he expects to ride around at moderate speed and, if he's lucky, drive for a few minutes himself. After Mr. Orange starts the Mercedes-Benz, however, he takes off in gut-wrenching fashion, and within seconds is going 110 mph.

At this point, Mr. Orange loses control of the vehicle.

Mr. Pink and Mr. Orange, along with the $120,000 Mercedes-Benz, roll over five times, finally coming to rest upside down. Mr. Pink, incredibly, is absolutely uninjured. Mr. Orange is bleeding heavily from a significant gash in his scalp. The Mercedes-Benz, meanwhile, looks more like a Pop Tart than an ultra-expensive automobile. It's totaled.

Mr. Orange spends two days in the hospital. When he's released, he immediately calls Mr. Pink.

Mr. Pink, he says. Did you see any ice on the road?

The high temperature that day: one hundred and two degrees.

Site Meter