Slowpoke

Since I'm usually thrust into the driver's seat with keys forced into my hands, it's rare indeed that I get a chance to be the front passenger. Even more novel to be sitting with hands blithely folded while Charming Calvin takes the wheel. Regardless of which side of the Big Puddle we're on, I'm usually the designated driver since he claims helplessly that he's utterly hopeless at navigating.

So you can imagine how much I relish the unique opportunity when it actually happens.

Paul : You're driving?
Calvin : Unless you want to.
Paul : Did I miss my birthday? 
Calvin : No.
Paul : Did I win a lottery?
Calvin : No.
Paul : Did you do something wrong?
Calvin : No. 
Paul : Did you -
Calvin : Do you want to drive?

Yes, I'm one of those boys who persistently jab at threatening bee hives to see what happens.

So much cooler on the passenger side!

Really do milk it for what it's worth. There's a certain unwarranted pleasure that comes with being chauffered around - though it irks me to no end that our far too cautious Calvin steers the car at a frustrating snail's pace. Even aging grannies with broken hips hobble by faster. Obviously overly prudent driving instructors from Miri repeatedly instil into their naive students that the accelerator belongs to the Devil - Touch at your peril!

Which explains how I've witnessed an accident occuring in slow motion at 20 km/h.

Like the rest of his countrymen, Calvin drives at a slow lethargic crawl guaranteed to sedate any unwitting driver. Needle on the speedometer barely moves from his set speed limit. Sometimes I facetiously imagine civilizations rise and fall in the protracted epoch he takes to journey down one miserable block.

Though I ultimately try my best not to take over the wheel of course. Must resist!