Those Long Car Journeys

I look forward to a road trip in much the same way as I look forward to having my leg broken, or having a large sum of money stolen from me.

Sitting in an enclosed space for hours on end excites me greatly – especially seeing as how I’m claustrophobic – and, due to my abnormally large frame, I need to contort my body into weird and unnatural shapes, in order to fit into the car.

Body Contortions: The things I have to do sometimes. Christ.

On this occasion, matters were worsened by the fact that I was made to lie in the boot (trunk) of the car, due to what The Girlfriend described as “misbehaving” on my part. (Waking up that morning to find my toes nestled in her mouth seemed to have irritated her somewhat.)

Road trips in movies tend to involve crazy adventures with oversexed fraternity members, inexplicable stunts involving broken bridges, and quick stop overs at sperm donation banks when you need cash.

In reality however, a long distance journey can be remarkably bland.

“Let’s do something crazy and steal a bus from a blind school,” I mentioned timidly, after managing to untie myself from the back of the vehicle. The Girlfriend didn’t seem to share this sentiment however, as I received a cautionary shot of pepper spray for my effort. As you can imagine then, the road trip was an uneventful one, with the most exciting event being the stop over at the Wimpy in Somerset West, where we saw a large, freckled woman drop her milk shake on the floor, before proceeding to lick it up off the ground, in much the same manner as those vacuum cleaners you see on Glomail infomercials, the only difference being that the vacuums make less noise, and cannot speak or wear ugly floral dresses, as this woman enthusiastically could.

Several hours later, we eventually reached our destination, much to my eternal relief. There was also an issue with the car radio, with it inexplicably playing the same Beatles CD over and over again. So much so that if I ever hear “Yellow Submarine” again, I will quite happily throw myself in front of the nearest Golden Arrow bus.

And that, dear friends, is the short hand version of why I hate road trips. Give me a helicopter any day of the week.

Shaun Oakes

This was written by the hulking mass of manliness known as Shaun Oakes. If you enjoyed what he had to say, you owe it to yourself to follow him on Twitter at @shaunoakes. Do it now.