Codename: Death Truck/Real name: Tequila Sunrise.

If you’ve never experienced that brand of catharsis that comes with surviving almost having whiplash, almost knocking your teeth out or trying to remember if you wore nice underwear for the undertaker because you’re pretty close to almost dying, then I guess:

1. You’ve never been to Panama City Beach or Cancun during a school holiday (think: inebriation, mechanical bulls, hormones, grody bathroom sexin’, etc.). PCB and Cancun seem to be the preferred vacay destinations for young people whose personal mottos almost always consist of the words, “It sounded like a good idea at the time.” Oh. And Joe Francis too.

2. You’ve never taught me how to rock a manual transmission.

Today was Mission Codename: Death Truck day. Nobody died…that’s good, right?

11:15 a.m. – I showed up to Helen F.’s for my pre-mission driving lesson. She took me for a ride around the neighborhood and explained the particulars of operating her 1964 Ford truck.  She rattled off some words like brakes, shift, transmission, steer, second, third and gas. Those words worked for me. I liked them. I also liked that despite the gloomy nickname I’d assigned it, the truck was officially named “Tequila Sunrise.” There’s no way a truck named Tequila Sunrise would let me die, I thought. This is going to be like petting dolphins!

Here’s proof:

A truck named after a refreshing cocktail couldn't be dangerous.

I guess I got so comfortable as a passenger in Tequila that I forgot that I would eventually have to drive her. And so comfortable that I just threw my head back and laughed when Helen told me that she forgot to mention how shifting gears was gonna suck big time because some of the pins were stuck in the transmission…

Oh, and that the truck really needed brake fluid because the brake pedal was only a few stops shy of causing a real-life Flinstone hole in the floorboard. Or at the very least, a dent.

Its cool, though. Because she did assure me that; despite the MISSING rubber rectangle on top of the jutting curl of metal that would serve as the GAS PEDAL, it was easier to drive without it. Fun fact: Helen and I are friends.

Helen stopped the truck. “OK. Now you drive.”

Yours truly...not petting dolphins.

To be continued…

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