Tag Archives: driving

2081. It’s off to work we go

Joseph didn’t have much to go on. He would go to work each morning, which was a 68 kilometre round trip through heavy traffic, and his salary paid for the gas and the car maintenance and occasionally a bite to eat at lunchtime. He gradually (actually not too gradually) was falling into deeper and deeper debt. He worked out that he would be better off not going to work but to stay home and see if he could find the odd job online and grow stuff to eat in his backyard.

At least that’s the story he told the homeless shelter people.

1380. Traffic premonition

Miranda had a premonition that she was going to die in a road accident – and that very day. The only thing for it was not to go out in her car, but she had arranged to pick up the cat deworming pills from the vet’s that afternoon, and they were long overdue.

“Don’t be silly,” thought Miranda. “I can’t let these silly feelings dictate my life, otherwise nothing would ever get done. I shall go into town and pick up the cat’s pills, but be careful nonetheless.”

On the way back home from town, Miranda spotted a large concrete mixer truck approaching on the other side of the road. Miranda almost froze. This was it. It was part of her premonition. The concrete mixer truck would be the instrument of her death. She tried to slow down but instead she froze.

The concrete mixer truck came nearer. And nearer. It passed! Miranda was free! Saved! The premonition was a silly notion after all. “Thank goodness!” thought Miranda.

In her relief she missed the corner, ploughed into a bank, and was killed.

1114. The short way home

Rachel decided to drive her mother to visit her mother’s widowed brother-in-law. It was a three hour drive. They hadn’t seen each other for several years.

Uncle Herbert had prepared lunch for his sister-in-law, Maureen, and his niece Rachel. They had a lovely time chatting away and catching up. Then it was time to drive home. Uncle Herbert said, “Goodness me, that’s not the quick way home. Turn off down the road at Harrisville and you’ll cut a good half hour off the journey. After turning, just follow the road.”

So Rachel and her mother turned off at Harrisville.

“I never realised where this shortcut was, but I’ve always heard people talk about it,” said Maureen.

On they drove. Four hours later Rachel declared “We seem at last to be getting somewhere”. And they were! One last turn in the road, and lo!

Somehow they were back in Harrisville…

1104. A turning

James was driving along quite comfortably. His three year old daughter was strapped into a safety seat in the back.

James needed to make a turn into a side street. He had plenty of time to turn, even though there was an oncoming car travelling at speed towards him.

Just as he turned two young skateboarders began to cross the road right in front of him. No warning; nothing. They hadn’t even looked. James had to make an instant decision: does he screech to a halt in the middle of the turn and avoid the skateboarders, or does he plough into the skateboarders and prevent his daughter in the back from being struck by the approaching speeding car?

A parent’s instinct is stronger than anything else. The court case is next week.

893. Missed turn


Apart from getting some groceries, Enid had two things to do in town that day: she had to return a book to the library, and she had to pick up a medical prescription at the pharmacy. Probably the best thing was to do these two errands first, before getting the groceries, and then she could whip off straight back home in her little blue car and not let the frozen ice cream melt.

If she turned down Hector Avenue she would come to the library first. And the pharmacy was in the mall – or just off the mall – so if she went from Hector Avenue and along Tremaine Street, she could park easily and then dash into the pharmacy.

And then there were the groceries. She had the list somewhere in her purse. At least she hope she’d put the grocery list in her purse. Once or twice over the years she’d left it at home!

“Oh! Blow!” thought Enid. With her musings she’d inadvertently passed the turn off to Hector Avenue, and now she had to rearrange the order of getting things. She would turn down Styx Street.

She turned down Styx Street. That was a pity, because she was hit by a truck and spent the rest of her days in a wheelchair.

745. Driving home


Garth frequently imbibed too much booze, especially if he was at a party. Don’t get me wrong; he was responsible. He wouldn’t drive himself home if he’d had a drink. He always got someone to drive him.

“Just a couple of miles,” he’d say. “Here, take my car keys and drive me home.”

He was always very grateful.

“Just stop here,” he’d say. “This is right where I live. This is my house. But wait! How will you get back yourself? It’s too far to walk. Let me drive you back.”

And he would.

681. Ace drove on


(If you’ve never had a flea then hopefully you will forgive the intensity of this story…)

Ace had a long drive ahead of him. He left early in the morning. It was a twelve hour drive to Cincinnati.

He’d been driving for about three quarters of an hour since leaving home, and…

… was that a flea? Moving in his groin? He scratched.

Yeah. It was a flea. He kept on driving. He scratched again. The flea moved lower, sort of underneath his testicles. Where did he pick up a flea? he wondered.

Shit. It was driving him nuts. Come the next town he’d stop at a store. Fly spray was the answer. He’d simply squirt the thing to death. It moved to his dick. Wow! How the hell can you drive with crossed knees?

There’s a general store now! Ace parked on the side of the street. He bought a can of fly spray and returned to the car. The fucking flea was in his crack. It was having a field day. It was happy as Larry. It was glad as two pigs in shit. It was romping in clover. It was pleased as a dog with two dicks. It was balls in butter. It was biting his fucking arsehole.

Ace pull down his trousers and boxers and sprayed. He sprayed his backside. He sprayed his front side. Between his torso and thighs was a mound of white fly spray foam. He held his dick up by the tip and sprayed all sides. He stretched open his crack with one hand and sprayed like there was no tomorrow.

The group of youths on the street side of the car clapped. They thought it was great.

Ace gave them the finger and drove on. He scratched all the way to Cincinnati.

Award 4: How versatile is that!

© Bruce Goodman 29 June 2015

(First of all, I would like to apologise in advance. I post a story each day, a piece of music on Wednesdays, and a poem on the first of the month. This coming Wednesday all three happen on the same day. I’m sorry for blogging “too much of a good thing” on the one day. Please be tolerant. Hopefully, next Wednesday will pass quickly and without too much angst).


I love, love, love awards. I hate, hate, hate having to nominate other people. I despise nominating, not because I think others don’t deserve it, but because I’m terrified of rejection and offending and … blah blah blah. Anyway, I accept The Versatile Blogger Award with jubilation and thanks. Thank you Kritika Vashist of From the soul to the nib of a pen. I read Kritika’s blog daily with delight.

There appeared to be no icon/picture sent with the award, so I searched one online (there are dozens of variations – how versatile is that?) and found something old that I dollied up to make look like the Shroud of Turin or something.

I am meant to say 7 things about myself:

1. Back in the bad old days, I got the strap on the hand at primary school for not covering my mouth when I yawned.

My first day at primary school – 1955

2. Back in the bad old days, I was the first in my year at high school to get caned (age: 13).

3. Back in the bad old days, I got caned 99 times in my first year at high school. We were having a race to get to 100.

My first year at secondary school – 1963

4. Back in the bad old days, I got “disestablished” as a teacher by a high school board of a school I didn’t even teach at! The Education Ministry had told the school to cut the number of teachers so they “disestablished” me to make it look good. It was very surreal (and it made me pretty angry if you must know and became rather complicated).

5. Back in the bad old days, I taught music for 40 hours a week with no break. I did this for nine years. There were about 90 students in each class, with forms to sit on but no desks, no books, no blackboard/whiteboard, no musical instruments (not even a keyboard), and not even something to play records/tapes/CDs on. The “classroom” was a bare hall. All this was simply to fulfil the government requirement of a compulsory hour’s music a week. It was where I learned to tell “a story a day”! The students would race to my class to find out how the previous week’s story ended!

The school where I taught – 1976-1984

6. Back in the bad old days, when I went for my driver’s licence (age: 15), just as I was driving out the gate, I ran over a wild rabbit that appeared from nowhere. I stopped the car. The examiner said, “You’re fine” and awarded me my licence without having to do any of the test!

I got my driver’s licence in one of these – 1965

7. Back in the bad old days, I was fit as a fiddle and would go for long, long runs that could last for hours. Nowadays I can barely walk to the gate to see if the postman has been to the letterbox.

I couldn’t find a photo of me going for a run, so I downloaded something that I thought might look vaguely similar… Yeah, right.

A lot of people don’t do awards, but check these sites/sights out nonetheless. I know also that some have already received such an award. My nominations (to which there is no obligation attached) are simply the five latest bloggers to follow my blog. Thank you to them:

624. Driving in translation

© Bruce Goodman 26 June 2015


The sun blazed through Hank’s windscreen (windshield) as he drove his car (auto, automobile, vehicle, motor car, limo, bomb, sedan, etc.) down the motorway (freeway, highway, expressway, main road) to get some petrol (petroleum, gas, gasoline, benzine) from the bowser (petrol pump, gas pump) at the local filling station (fuelling station, garage, gasbar, gas station, petrol pump, petrol bunk, petrol station, service station, servo). The sunbeams were splattered in all directions by the dust particles and blinded his vision. He couldn’t see a thing. He’d meant to clean the car windows that morning, but missed doing so.

He couldn’t squirt water automatically on the window and use the window wipers (blades). He’d meant to refill the water fluid container under the bonnet (hood) that morning, but missed doing so.

There was a cleaning rag in the boot (trunk). There wasn’t a rag in the glovebox (glove compartment, jockey box, cubby-hole). He’d meant to get a cloth that morning but missed doing so.

But there was one thing he didn’t miss: the car coming straight at him.