The worse driver

Today’s topic from WordPress is to describe the worse driver I know. 

There has only been a handful times where my life has flashed before my eyes. This is the story of one of them.

Back in 2004, I was steadily climbing up the retail ladder at my local Body Shop. As assistant manager, I had to attend a training day up in Telford. It was a Big Deal, and I was tasked to bring what I had learnt back to our little shop in Hastings. My boss suggested that I, along with the rest of the assistant managers, share cars and drive up to Shropshire.

So that’s what did. We met up at Bluewater car park and decanted into the various cars.

I had an awful time up there. Not with the Body Shop conference – that was great – but groups of girls can be hard work and very, very bitchy.

The journey home was uneventful, up until Bluewater. The girl from Tunbridge Wells offered to drive me back to her home town, where I would take the train back down to the coast. This girl gave blonds and women a very bad name. After realising that she was about to miss a turning off the motorway, she decided to cut across several lanes and drive over the lane markings. A second more, we would have crashed into the barrier.

So far, so scary.

Weirdly, she decided to add time to our journey by taking a different route, because she was: “passing by her house, and was annoyed that he couldn’t go home.” By this time, I was a little weary of her attitude and just wanted to get out. This was then I realised that the road she was driving on wasn’t a dual carriageway and there was another car hurtling towards us at great speed.

I think I managed to squeak something out, but thankfully there were some traffic lights which were red. Trying not to go berserk, I asked if she realised she was driving on the wrong side of the road.

She said no.

I have never wanted to get out of a car so quickly!


4 thoughts on “The worse driver

  1. Sounds like you had a lucky escape! Was she English? I remember when I first moved over here I was absolutely convinced I’ll get hit by a car crossing the road, simply because you guys drive on the other side and it took forever to work out which way the traffic was supposed to come from. Now, I have to opposite problem: when I go back home, I get so confused, it takes forever to work out which way to look.

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