Like this story? Then check out my book Misadventure Musings: Lessons learned from life's awesome and absurd moments. Continue reading
By Josh Martin
“My friends are my estate.” – Emily DickinsonWaterloo, Ontario—It’s ten-thirty at night and I’m hurtling down a deserted street inside a shopping cart, like some hobo torpedo. As my mobile, metal coffin rattles down the road at mach five I suddenly realize something—I’m an idiot. It had all started two minutes earlier when my “friend” Royce offered to push me to the local bar in a shopping cart. Royce and I lived together in university with four other buddies in a dump of a student house on Marshall Street, a few blocks from the bar we were headed to. Never one to pass up a free ride, I accepted the shopping cart offer without a second thought. I sat in the shopping cart facing forward and cheered Royce on as he pushed me faster and faster down the darkened street. Before long, my courage faltered. “OK, Royce!” I yelled over the clatter of the rattling shopping cart. “Slow down!... Slow down, Royce!... ROYCE!?” The cart showed no signs of slowing down. I risked a glance over my shoulder to sternly insist that my good and trusted friend stop the cart immediately. Unfortunately, my good and trusted friend was now twenty yards behind me with a stupid grin on his face. He had let go of the cart and sent me hurtling into the night. Turning forward once again I realized that I was drifting to the right. To my horror I found myself heading straight for a fire hydrant. I vainly attempted to extricate myself from my impending doom. But leaping from a speeding shopping cart is more difficult then you might imagine. I crashed squarely into the hydrant and was launched from the cart as if from a catapult. I flipped head over heels, cleared the fire hydrant and landed on my back in the grass on the other side with a dull thud. Yup, I thought to myself. I'm an idiot.