I Hate Driving

So as I'm on my way home from Iraq via bicycle with Max, I come upon a house owned by my parents' old friends. My whole family is there as well as a bunch of people I've never met. They are all incredibly excited to see me. My mom and dad want to show me a surprise gift they bought for me. They take me to the garage and open it. Inside is a silver vehicle of some sort. It looks like an Apache attack helicopter on wheels. It has big metal letters on the front in a language I don't understand. The glass on the vehicle was in big, puzzle-shaped pieces. I'm assuming it was supposed to make it look modern. It looks like it fits 2 people. I am confused. My parents boast that they spent $20,000 on it. They want to take me for a spin. So, I get in. I admit to them that I already have a car and really, really don't need or necessarily like this one. My dad tries to explain that he can speed up the payments (as if that was supposed to make me feel better?).

As we drive around the city, people are staring. This is not a vehicle they have seen before either. We arrive back at the house and I am sad. I don't want this vehicle. By this time, the vehicle is no longer silver but black, green, and tan instead--like a military helicopter. Ugh. I really hated it. By now, we've aquired a Mexican dude who apparently is an expert on this vehicle and he speaks little English (my dad is translating). He says I need to learn to love the vehicle. Whatever.

When I get my turn behind the wheel, there is cardboard blocking the windshield and I cannot see anywhere except my left mirror and left window. I am very nervous driving this hunk of junk. I am driving down a muddy, puddle-ridden street. It is downhill and I'm going a bit faster than I'm comfortable with.

The End.

Next time I'm going to ask my parents for a BMW.