A Holiday of Errors
Based on a true story.
Hi, I'm Jayee. I mean Joy. Without the ee. Because with the ee it'd seem I were a girl. Which I am not.
Anyway, I'm having an awesome holiday, and I'm gonna tell you all about it, whether you want to hear it or not. It began with news that a certain Mr. V celebrated the start of his holiday by auspiciously breaking - no, not a coconut, but two bones in his hand. Yes, he was checking if it was raining outside the train.
This single event brought meaning and direction into Mr. V's life; he has now adopted, as his mission in life, the task of revising and improving the Indian Railways field manual for trackside pole placement. Single handedly. (That being his left hand for now.)
I recieved this news with mixed feelings; for, although the misfortune befell an arch rival of mine, the rivalry between us was mostly about who can do the most stupid things. Did this mean that he had pulled ahead of me in the stupid-things-to-do summer championships? I could not let that happen; I steadfastly resolved to outdo Mr. V's two-boned act before the holiday was over.
My first attempt was unsuccessful; I went to the beach without telling anyone but the coastguard wouldn't let me drown. Disheartened, I returned vowing to do better next time. Another attempt at aggravating my chronic ankle pain with spirited (but none-too-skillful) cricket was moderately successful; but nobody took too much notice and I had to do much better to - well - better the likes of Mr. V.
Taking a deviation from mishaps medical, I made plans for a long journey to see more beaches; Eager to exploit every opportunity, I neglected to book tickets for about half the journey. Soon, I found myself getting on the wrong train which took me sixty kilometres past my destination - and I ended up sleeping in the railway station. At last - a decent goof-up!
Little did observers know that I was only getting started. Soon after my trip, another game of cricket saw me equalling, if not exceeding, Mr. V's score. The ball was hit straight towards me - I executed a doggy-catch-ball-with-mouth manouvre to perfection. Near-perfection, actually, but perfect for my purposes; I saved a six with my left eye. Of course, bleeding in the vitreous chamber meant I had also gone blind in that eye. No pain, no gain.
Then, of course, came the coup de grace. I decided to take driving lessons - my tutors insisted on using a parking lot, but I think I could've done better on a real street. After pretending to listen for ten minutes to all that banter about where the brakes were and the need to press the accelerator gently, I set off. I surprised my tutors with great acceleration... of course, I couldn't be bothered with trivial matters like steering or parked cars.
The white ambassador was dragged some five feet from where it stood. It's hood popped open, bumper buckled inward, and the entire car is probably a few inches shorter now. The mob was satisfyingly large. Touche.
Howwzat, Mr. V?