Introductions

You think your job blows? Well, so does mine. I’m a fucking driving instructor.

Imagine road rage. Having a hard time? Let me help. You are turning left at an intersection. The light goes amber. You continue to wait to turn because some asshole decided that a red light doesn’t apply to him. He has some important life event to attend to, and the 17 seconds he would have to wait for another green light might upset his important asshole day, so he blows through the red. You like living, so you wait as King Shit accelerates through the red. This, however, seems like the wrong decision to make to Dick Fuck behind, who is also waiting to turn on the very red light even though he isn’t even supposed to be in the intersection at all, so he honks long and hard to tell you, “Hey if that were me in your place, I would have accelerated towards King Shit to test my ball courage in a friendly game of retard chicken.” Before you know it, there it is: Road Rage. Feel the hate at its purest, running through your veins, pulsing, setting you on fire from the inside. Yum. Now, all you have to do to regain control over your own body and mind in this sudden powerful build up is start yelling profanities to the world; or maybe just to yourself? Perhaps a couple of friendly gestures to Dick Fuck or King Shit will do the trick? A meaningful scream on top of your lungs? Or how about holding the hate in, never to let go, and calmly discussing what could have been done better by the other drivers in a positive way with a smile on your face and a friendly sound in your voice?

“Who votes for the last answer? Anyone? Anyone at all? You, in the last row with the crazy on your face? You choose the last answer. Who the fuck are you and why the fuck would you do that?”

“O hai. I am Crazy Fuck and I decided that the best way to be free and not to have to deal with the stress of working in an office environment was to become a driving instructor. I may or may not have overlooked a thing or two in my master plan so here I am permanently cooking myself from the inside out in the oil that is hate.”

Yep. That pretty much sums up a minute in a driving instructor’s life. Now, let’s do the math! One teaches an average of five students in a day and events akin to this one happen and average of three times per student. So punching that into my trusty calculator, that is an average of fifteen hits of ‘road rage on crack’ per day with no release.

In summary, what the fuck was I thinking? I have always had road rage issues. For years my release was creative hateful words sprinkled with a rude gesture here and there, until one day when I came up with my Invisible Hand of Slapping (An invisible had that slaps people on the back of the head when they do stupid shit on the road…countless perpetrators have become victims to its execution!). Yet, when I saw that job ad, calling for all those who wanted to teach new innocent minds to drive in a cesspool of horrible assholes, I stood up to the challenge. Not even thinking twice that it might actually be a challenge. “Challenge” did not even cross my mind, not even for a split mille-second.

I started a bit crazy before this job. Shit is getting worse. Fuck me.