Story 259: European Road Test

            (In an American café, Friend 1 enters wearing a racing jacket, scarf, and shades, and saunters over to Friend 2, who is seated at a table and sipping coffee)

            Friend 2: What’s all this?

           Friend 1: (Sits extremely casually) Oh, nothing much: just demonstrating my status as The Best Driver in the World is all.

            Friend 2: Really.

            Friend 1: Uh-huh.  My car broke down and the rental place only had a stick shift, and I was able to drive it all the way here without stripping the gears once.  So I rule.

            Friend 2: Really.

            Friend 1: Yep.  I also parallel parked like a dream – take a look outside.  (Friend 1’s head tilts towards the café’s front window; Friend 2 turns to see a car parked half on the sidewalk, then turns back to Friend 1, who is smiling smugly) Got that on only the third try.

            Friend 2: Really.  “Best Driver in the World,” eh?

            Friend 1: (Wipes sunglasses while ripping off the price tag) Most accurate.

            Friend 2: (Leans in over coffee) Care to put that to the test?

            Friend 1: (Drops sunglasses) Huh?

            (On a small road on Italy, Friend 1 still is wearing the jacket and is leaning against a fencepost when a tiny car pulls to a stop nearby and the driver steps out)

            Examiner: Buon giorno; you are here for the road test?

            Friend 1: Um, sì; actually, I am The Best –

            Test: Yes, yes, get in, please.

            (Friend 1 squeezes into the driver’s seat as the Examiner gets into the passenger seat)

            Friend 1: Righty, where should I navigate us to? (Revs engine)

            Examiner: Straight ahead for now, then as the road tells you.

         Friend 1: Cool cannellini – away we go!  (Immediately stalls) Heh-heh, still used to an automatic.

          Examiner: Mm.  (Begins making notes on a clipboard; checks off a box next to the word “Americano/a”)

            Friend 1: (Sheepishly hits the clutch and shifts to first gear, then rapidly accelerates through the majestic hills and hairpin turns) So, just give a shout when you’d like me to take us to a winery or something.

            Examiner: Turn right, please.

          Friend 1: Now?  (Screeches onto a dirt road and starts bumping steadily uphill) Uh, is it a problem that I didn’t get a chance to signal?

            Examiner: (Shrugs) Eh.

          Friend 1: (Takes the car on a 85-degree angle up several switchbacks, accelerating faster and faster the higher they go) So, I’ve got this and everything – oops – (Screeches up another switchback) but I was just wondering if, you know, I should get ready to turn off soon or anything –

            Examiner: You are doing fine: we are going all the way to the top.

         Friend 1: Ohhhh – kaaaaaayyyyyy!!!  (Stalls again in mid-turn; the car begins to roll backwards) Oh no – (Frantically shifts into all gears) oh no –

            Examiner: On these hills, one must drive with the sole.

            Friend 1: My soul?!

            Examiner: The sole!  Of your foot!  Floor it!

         Friend 1: Got it!  (Shifts and accelerates fast enough to get the car moving forward again through the turn, nearly hitting a jogger who never breaks stride) Wheeee!

            Examiner: (Sighs)

            (The car flies into a walled cobblestoned town)

          Friend 1: (Slamming on the clutch and the brake) Ah!  Tourists!  (The car immediately is surrounded by pedestrians)

            Examiner: Just drive through them; they will move.  Now go find a parking spot.

            Friend 1: Uhhhh, sure, no problem.  (Crawls through the two-way streets built for foot traffic, gently nudging people aside and squeezing past the cars left next to buildings) Sooooo, should I be looking for signs for a municipal lot or something?

            Examiner: There’s a spot – take it now!

            Friend 1: (Points) That?  There’s already two cars in it!

            Test: Exactly!  Take it now!

            Friend 1: (Takes seven attempts to squeeze the car into the space, then brakes) Nailed it, now what?

            Examiner: Now it is lunch.  (Disappears into a trattoria for an hour; returns to the car and sees Friend 1 still seated there) Did you stay here this whole time?!

            Friend 1: I was afraid to move.

           Examiner: Very well, then move out of the spot now.  (Friend 1 takes some time backing out into the sporadic traffic, then resumes the slow trek through the town)  Go down that hill.

            Friend 1: Whoa, yeah, not that this is a problem or anything, but that street is a bit vertical –

            Examiner: You see everyone else driving down it without hesitation, yes?

            Friend 1: Heh-heh, I was just kidding.  Here we go!  (Rides the brake all the way downhill)

            Examiner: Points deducted since you are being tailgated by a bicyclist.

           Friend 1: (Hunched forward, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles) That’s on them!

            (At the bottom of the hill, they level out and reach a roundabout)

            Examiner: Take the second exit.

            Friend 1: Is that the next exit after this turn or the next exit after that turn?

            Examiner: The second exit.

            Friend 1: Uhhh…. (Screeches around the roundabout several times before cutting off two cars to take the correct exit) Uhhh… we’re getting on the A1….

            Examiner: Precisely.

            (They enter the thoroughfare and Friend 1 weaves in and out of the basically straight traffic)

            Friend 1: So, like me to push it to 110 kph?  `Cause I can do that, no big deal.

            Examiner: Take the next exit, please.

            Friend 1: (Gasps) Does that say “Roma”?!

            Examiner: Yes.  There, your true test will begin.

            (They enter Rome and start and stop through rush hour traffic)

            Friend 1: (Before a ginormous roundabout) Since this is going to take forever, I’m just gonna hop into that gelateria over there –

            Examiner: There’s your opening!  Seize it!

         (Friend 1 zips through the traffic, suffering close encounters with motorcyclists and more tourists all being just everywhere)

            Friend 1: Hold on – (Zigs) hold on – (Zags) I’ve got this – (Nearly crashes into Vatican City) – almost there – !  (Flies through the air and lands in Trevi Fountain)

            Examiner: Now, what do you think your next step should be?  Keep in mind, you eventually will need to find your way to the A5 because we are moving on to France now.

            Friend 1: (Unbuckles seatbelt, gets out of the car, and flings off the racing jacket) I relinquish my title: I am taking the train back to the airport and will never ever drive ever again!  (Disappears into the unfazed crowd, shaking all the way)

            Examiner: (Sighs, then slides over to the driver’s seat and begins reversing the car out of the fountain) Some people just cannot handle a few quirks of the road.

Story 258: With My Plot Armor, I Shall Be Invincible!

            The warehouse was bursting at the seams with all the plot devices any character could ever want; this Protagonist, however, had strict instructions to retrieve only one.

         “Hi there!”  The Caretaker emerged from a random aisle and vigorously shook the Protagonist’s hand.  “Welcome to the World of Fiction’s Supply-O-Rama and Trade Emporium, my friend!”

           “Thank you.”  The newly-created Protagonist was uncertain how to feel from moment-to-moment, or even what feelings exactly were.  “The Author sent me here; said it was vitally important before I embark on The Plot – I mean, my Hero’s Journey.”

            “Yes indeedy!”  The smile never lessened in intensity.  “We were contacted ahead of your visit, and I have it all ready for you!”  The Caretaker led the Protagonist to a prominently positioned card table, upon which lay an important-looking wooden crate with “PRICELESS” stamped on all sides.  “Go ahead – open it up!”

            The Protagonist grabbed a crowbar helpfully left on the table and levered open the crate’s top lid; after digging through the packing material, the contents were revealed.

            The Protagonist raised an eyebrow at the Caretaker: “A suit of armor?”

            “Yeppers!  It’s the One-Size-Fits-All Plot Armor!”

            “But... how can I… what does it do?”

            The Caretaker raised a finger: “The question you should be asking is, ‘What doesn’t it do?’”

            They stood expectantly staring at each for a few moments before the Caretaker said, “That’s your cue to ask the question.”

           “Oh, sorry, I thought it was rhetorical.”  They blinked at each other some more.  “OK, what doesn’t it do?”

            “Nothing!”

            “What?”  The Protagonist’s new brain could not handle multiple double negatives at this stage of its development.

            The Caretaker reached into the crate and pulled out the armor’s breastplate to demonstrate.  “Plot Armor is that most wonderful of all inventions, in that it makes one truly immortal.  You can face literally all the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and still be around to celebrate the last page at ‘The End.’  An entire building can be dropped on your head, and it’ll turn out to either have missed you unbeknownst to the narrator or you’ll be resurrected in the sequel, all thanks to this baby.”  The Caretaker patted the plate lovingly.

            “Really?”  The Protagonist grabbed a gauntlet.  “An entire building, you say?”

            “Absolutely!  It also can be an entire army, and you just standing there facing them all by your lonesome; or a rogue sniper who has you perfectly in their crosshairs; or a previously incurable disease; even old age, that sneaky foe.”

            “Wow.”  The Protagonist grabbed the breastplate from the Caretaker for a closer look.  “And all I have to do is wear this clunky thing all the time?”

            The Caretaker chuckled.  “Yes, but don’t worry: no one can see it once it’s on.  However, all the world will know it’s there.”

            “How?”

           “Because you will never die, even when virtually anyone else in that same situation would have, and you ultimately succeed in every single thing you do.  Silly,” the Caretaker added, playfully punching the Protagonist’s shoulder.  “The Author put a rush on this – even requested extra plating – so I think you’re in for one doozy of a ride!  Want to try it on?”

            The Protagonist put the Armor back into the crate and placed the latter onto a helpfully nearby hand truck: “I think I’m good for now, thanks.  I probably should go… prep for my adventure, or something.”

           “All righty!”  The Caretaker waved as the Protagonist wheeled the crate towards the exit.  “Remember: wear your Plot Armor at all times, and NEVER EVER TAKE IT OFF, for maximum efficacy!”

            Boy, the Protagonist thought, what have I gotten myself into if I need Plot Armor this much?  Will there be a Plot War?

Story 257: Never Thought I Would Have an Internet Addiction

            Dear Diary,

            It’s very big of me to admit to you that I have a problem.

          No, not that other problem I last wrote you where I was failing Calc 101 – so sorry I never closed the loop there: turned out I succeeded in failing it, dashed my mathematician dreams in Freshman Year, whatcha gonna do.

          So this problem is a little more… comprehensive, I think is the word I want.  It’s come to my attention recently that I’ve developed a group of habits that I believe can be classified as an addiction (not certain, failed Psych 101 too, this is a best guess), especially since it’s passed the test of “I can stop whenever I want” and I know I really don’t want.  To stop, that is.  It’s not drugs, or even porn (the parentals at least would be relieved about that), but that grand culmination of humanity’s achievements: The Internet.

            And yes, this is a thing (you can become addicted to pretty much anything, sadly).

           Oh, I can imagine a time without it – scratch that, I remember a time without it, I am that old.  I started in small doses, like all the kids do, just for fun, like all the kids do.  Then I wound up needing it to get homework done and then work-work done, so it became a chore.  Then the rest of the world got onboard with it, and now no one can do anything without checking the Web site first.

            I think I can spot the exact moment of my downfall: when I migrated from desktop to laptop.  Being able to stretch out and surf the cyber-waves of cat videos and entertainment updates in the newfound nerds’ paradise has been my utter ruin.

            However, this begs the question: is it so much worse than spending hours watching TV?  Or spending hours talking on the phone?  Or spending hours pondering the meaninglessness of life while cooking, cleaning, and tending to an ungrateful family tree?  At least with my issue, I’m actually reading more than I did when text printed on murdered plants was the only option.

            I am finding it harder and harder to shut it down at night, though.  My brain keeps telling my conscience – or my conscience keeps telling my brain? – “Just one more article” – “Just one more video” – “Just want to check my bank statement” – “Wait a minute, I forgot to send out that e-mail” – “Why did they stop following me???”

            The ironic part is that I’m more in touch with my friends now than I ever was with regular old phone and print correspondence.  Doesn’t that make me less antisocial, hm?

            I lost three hours the other night on a role-playing game, but since I had to work with other (human) players in order for any of us to get anywhere, I would say that is equivalent to and possibly even beats a night of cribbage with the neighbors, wouldn’t you?

            Still, I then lost another three hours catching up on Season 2 of I-can’t-even-remember-what-the-show’s-called.  Does reading reams of fan fiction exploring the nuances of characters hooking up in all ways count as consuming literature?  It sure lasted me until the wee hours, when both the computer and I woke up and realized we had never left the couch.

            Case in point: I’ve interrupted this diary entry six times to check my e-mail and post pictures of my dinner in various stages.  If no one comments on those I’ll just scream, if I hadn’t already moved on to watching a video showing whichever celeb I’m into now disappointing me with their shenanigans, yet again.

            I can’t live off four hours of sleep a night, but I can’t pull myself out of the alluring black hole, either.  After a rough day at work, or a rough day at school, or just a rough day, or even just a day, this is the one thing that soothes me – isn’t that how it usually starts?  Is it the dopamine rush?  Had to replace fulfillment in life with something, I guess.

         Volunteer work?  Quality time with family and friends?  Who has the energy?  Or the inclination?  Not this guy.

            Enough of that – I’ve gotta get back to arguing with myself under different account names on my favorite site’s comments section.  Aaaand I just realized that I may need to talk to someone else besides you about this whole thing.

            Your friend in surreality,

            A Self-Aware Troll