Are you sure dude?

Two polite honks interrupted Tom while he held the scalding cup to his lips, his wrist wobbled, spilling drops of hot murky brown onto his denim knee. A curse hissed through his teeth as he checked his phone. His lift had arrived twenty minutes ahead of schedule. 

He set the cup gingerly down, reminding himself to drain it when he got back from the festival. He snatched his jagged keys and stooped down to zip his crumpled black duffle bag closed before rushing to the bathroom, there was no way he was asking a stranger to drop him at the nearest restroom.

All he knew about this driver was his username on the transit-share website: PotatoMaster99. Tom needed a lift to the Gallium festival after his buddy Gary cancelled at short notice due to food poisoning. The buses were completely booked out on the morning of the festival, obviously, and so were the trains.

Luckily, a driver profile read his desperate plea on the travel boards and pinged him a request. He was driving in the direction of the festival if he wanted a lift.

Tom grabbed his belongings and fled the apartment, his blonde man-bun bobbing behind him as he raced for the stairs. He reached the ground floor after running down three flights, and burst onto the sunny streets, Tom looked onto the road, then his eyebrows jumped.

A pea green Volkswagen beetle was parked askew by the curb, attempts at parallel parking long since disbanded. Tom sighed, then pursed his lips and peered at the driver’s window.

A shining bald man lounged, bronze muscles bursting out of a white sleeveless vest, resting his massive bicep out of the window atop the sun-hot steel of the stubby vehicle. His drifting mustache longed to be flowing behind a motorcycle. Tom approached tentatively, a gentle breeze lifted the base of his red checkered shirt as he strode over towards the bubbly car to ask the most ridiculous question in his lifetime.

“Hey, are you PotatoMaster99?”

The man swung his thick muscled neck to face him, sun glinting against the smooth shaved head, eyes concealed behind a large pair of aviator sunglasses. Tom braced himself for getting his ass kicked.

“I sure am my dude, or should I say Tomtom20?”

His voice revved up from a gravelly throat and by the third syllable had broken into clarity. Tom mentally cringed as his username was spoken aloud for the first time.

“Drop your bag in the back my man and come sit up front.”

The husky voice rumbled out, as PotatoMaster patted the passenger seat with a gnarled veiny hand.

Tom did as he was told. As soon as he sunk into the tepid seat padding and heard the passenger car door close, he realised that he had just entered the car of a stranger, a very strange stranger.

He took a deep breath as PotatoMaster started the beetle, an innocent aheming of an engine's throat before it settled into its motorized hum. He dramatically checked all his mirrors, aggressively swinging his head close to Tom to check for passing cars on the side, then started the polite tic-tac of his indicators before smoothly pulling out onto the street.

Tom decided to keep quiet until he was spoken to, PotatoMaster seemed to be concentrating hard on driving, his double checking and triple checking prior to making any sudden movements gave him a very short window for decisions.

He looked out his window as they carefully weaved their way out of downtown traffic. The apartment blocks and high rise buildings loomed past, slices of blue sky popped out as they passed intersections. Eventually, the stretching summer sky became visible over the building tops as they reached the suburbs and prepared to move onto the express way.

They stopped at a set of traffic lights. On their right, a bus station at the corner displayed dozens of people in their early 20’s dressed for the festival. Some wore plain white vests or faded black band t-shirts, while others displayed a kaleidoscope of bursting greens, magentas and teals. Despite their outfits, the common identifier was the sheer volume of alcohol bulging out of white plastic bags clutched by the festival goers. Tom spotted a sweaty bus driver plodding towards the front of his vehicle, holding a clipboard, a pen, and attempting to present an air of steely determination. Tom didn’t envy him.

“Thanks for picking me up.” Tom said, completely unaware that he had forgotten to give his thanks.

“No problem dude. Might as well have some company on my way anyway.” he shrugged.

“So you’re probably aware I’m going to that festival. How about you?” Tom asked, noticing that there were bags piled up in the back seat.

“Not my jam my dude. I’m taking a one way trip four hours west.”

Tom didn’t want to pry or interrogate his driver so he looked ahead at the long road stretching out in front of them.

“Do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

It was only now he realised the vast silence in the car, he had no idea how to make conversation, especially with someone who was so focused on his driving.

“To your hearts content my dude", came the reply.

Tom pushed on the button to toggle the radio, fingers tapping against the hot plastic while he skipped through a bunch of talk shows before settling on some classic rock. If PotatoMaster didn’t like Gallium music, it was probably safe to stay away from pop and dance stations. After hearing no grunts of disapproval, Tom sat back in the chair, hoping he wouldn’t start sweating against the fabric anytime soon.

After about two hours of smoothly cruising along the expressway, Tom asked

“Would you like to stop for a bite to eat in a while? My treat.”

“Sure dude, if you see a sign for any restaurants just point ‘em out and I’ll take a turn off.” 

Tom kept his eyes peeled for billboards and signs. The scenery had now turned to vast expenses of lush grain crops, still green while young shoots had the whole summer to mature. The occasional cloud bumbled far above in the otherwise sapphire blue summer sky. After about five minutes Tom spotted a sign for a fast food restaurant at the next turnoff.

Long in advance, the indicators were turned on and PotatoMaster neatly brought the beetle into the lane, drifting along the slow curve of the road as they veered from the expressway.

As they approached the restaurant, it looked like they weren’t the only ones with the same idea, two grey buses had parked untidily in the colossal carpark, no doubt to let their inebriated festival goer cargo off to relieve themselves. The queues for the restrooms were already snaking out the door.

Tom insisted he’ll bring their orders out, he didn’t fancy sharing the diner with the messy crowd. How were these guys going to set up a tent later? A moment of panic flashed through him, Gary was supposed to bring his sleeping bag.

Entering the restaurant, the sterile scent of bleached tiles and air conditioning washed over him in a cool shaded haze, he was surprised to see that it wasn’t as busy on the inside. He ordered their meals and checked his social media while he dwelled on how he'd sleep later.

His thoughts then drifted to his crush Emily, who he hoped to spend time with at the festival. Her latest photo upload was of her smiling self and her friends, sporting streaks of neon face paint and sparkles in the back of a car.

Gary’s car.

Tom did a double take, the rear window sticker looked familiar. The blue sleeping bag he bought last year rested behind the headrest below the window.

The back seat was full of passengers he knew, meaning that someone had replaced Tom as a passenger. They had the sleeping bag he loaned Gary that he was supposed to use that evening.

Indignation and fury swept over him. Why couldn’t he have been told in advance? All Gary had to do was text him so he could get a bus ticket. He started to type a message, but was too furious to send it, his finger shaking over the send button, his order was suddenly called out over the intercom interrupting him.

As he stomped back to the car clutching the paper bag that wafted scents of fast food upwards, the little green bubble pea shone amidst a line of silvers, reds and blacks. He spotted his driver in the front, shoulders heaving about in his seat. He was pressing a large palm onto his face, twisting it as if he was juicing a lemon over his eye socket. A moment later the penny dropped, he was violently wiping his face, drying the tears on his vest before swiping wrist to elbow to remove any moisture remaining. Tom slowed down his pace and trudged directly in plain view of the car’s mirror to let him know he was approaching.

A gentle click of the passenger door allowed Tom to slide into his seat, he fished out the contents of the paper bag, eyes looking down the whole time.

“Hey man, I’ve got your order, the place inside is a bit quiet, if you’d like to come in, but I’m happy to eat here too.”

“Thanks dude.” PotatoMaster replied adjusting his sunglasses back into position, his voice more raw than usual. He sniffed long and hard before continuing. "I think I’ll eat here if that’s ok dude."

They ate in the car without speaking, the determined munching of their greasy meals masked the tempest of their thoughts.

After brushing the crumbs off the black and red patterns on his shirt, and the rustling and scrunching of paper, Tom took the refuse and dropped it in a bin a few paces away.

He plopped back in the seat, and his rant burst out despite himself.

“He took my sleeping bag and lied about his diarrhea!”

PotatoMaster looked at him dumbfounded, but intrigued, as if to say “Go on dude.”

As the words and grumbles spilled out, Tom felt invigorated, having someone to listen to, even if he didn’t know him. The simple response of grunts, eyebrow raising, tutting, and cursing was as relieving to Tom’s mind as those who reached the top of the restroom queue back at the restaurant.

After he had calmed down, Tom asked PotatoMaster if he was alright. Silently, he started up the engine and carefully reversed out of the parking spot, before he answered.

“Not really Dude. This is my last drive home. My folks want me back to look after the farm, Pops got a hip surgery recently and can’t look after the herd as well as he used to. Had to quit my job at the gym and hand over the keys to the landlord this morning.”

Tom listened numbly, his problems put in perspective, now feeling like a bratty teenager post tantrum. He scratched behind his ear, nudging the tight hair bun with his finger absentmindedly. They drove on for another hour, Tom listened to him chat about his hobbies, jobs, friends, lovers and exes.

After a particularly raucous tale and the laughs that followed, paint speckled signs for the Gallium festival began to emerge from the road as the sun reached far into the afternoon sky. Tom released a long hard sigh as the intro to a power ballad squealed from the radio.

“Hey, are there any bars and motels on this route?”

“Why do you ask dude?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

Tom paused, then he started counting on his fingers as he spoke his mind.

“I don’t have a sleeping bag anymore.”

“I want to have a clean shower and a bathroom nearby.”

“My friend has ditched me for the girl I have a crush on.”

“I owe you at least a drink, and if I’m honest, I’m itching for one too. Not a warm can in a field, but a cold pint in a bar”

“Are you sure Dude? We’re only twenty minutes away from the festival, and my hometown's just beyond that.”

“Screw the festival and screw them PotatoMaster99”, Tom announced. “I want to get a drink with you, and not with them.”

PotatoMaster grinned, his cheeks raising his mustache to new heights.

“Right on Dude, but you don’t have to call me that anymore, you can just call me J…”

Tom cut him off by twisting the volume dial to blast the chorus of a power ballad into the car, a manic grin spreading across his face. Determined brown eyes glared into curious green.

“Just for tonight, Tomtom20 and PotatoMaster99 are on a mission, we’re going to hit a bar, play some pool, drink some beer and some of the harder stuff too. Tomorrow, we can go back to our lives, and maybe stay in touch.”

“I’d like that Tomtom20, I really do.” PotatoMaster’s grin returned, his evergreen eyes smiling too.

He clicked the indicator, got in lane, and the little green car drifted towards the glinting windows of the nearest town.