Chasing Life

I had Daffy Duck in my car one time. I know, you’re raising an eyebrow in disbelief. A cartoon character, you say. Yes, that’s what I said. You see, your life is not like mine. I’ve been subjected to a Hell on earth all my life, or at least since I started driving around age 18. You don’t say no to Daffy Duck when he jumps in your car at a red light and demands you “follow that car”. That car, by the way, contained what appeared to be gray and pink bunny ears sticking up in the back window. The chase went on for an hour, careening around turns and out into the forest where Elmer Fudd was waiting with his shotgun. No good can come of this, I thought, but Daffy kept squawking “faster, faster”, so I went faster. Elmer blew a load of buckshot at us, splattering my once nice automobile with cartoon bullet holes. Hard to get those out. All ended well, as it always does, with Elmer sputtering “that kwazy wabbit” and Daffy and Bugs dancing off into the sunset, disappearing over the horizon. I was left with the cartoon bullet holes and a very ticked off doctor who I had been scheduled to see an hour earlier. He referred me to a shrink. 

Daffy wasn’t the only cartoon character I’ve had commandeer my car. Fred Flintstone did it last week when I was trying to get to an important job interview. Off we went in pursuit of a car carrying Barney Rubble and Fred’s wife Wilma. “Wiiiiillllmmmmaa,” he kept shouting and it was ugly when we caught up with Rubble’s foot powered stone mobile. I’ll spare you the details.

Then there was the time Bond, James Bond, jumped into my car and demanded I drive at full speed up a winding mountain road in pursuit of a long-haired beauty on a very hot motorcycle. 

“Bond,” I said, “I thought you had black hair.”  

“I’m not that Scotsman, sir,” he said. He had a martini, shaken, not stirred, in his hand, so I assumed the real Bond actually did have blonde hair. I would have thought he’d rather be speeding along in his Aston Martin instead of my dusty Subaru. It turned out I was correct, she was getting away despite my ‘pedal to the metal” driving. “Stop here,” he shouted, jumped out, and disappeared into the distance with his jet pack on his back. Bond always gets the lady.

That was just one of many to come. It all started when I got drafted and was fighting the war in southeast Asia. My job was driving a high-ranking officer around in a jeep, so it was usually safely behind any front lines. You know high ranking officers. That’s why we have grunts. Anyway, one day, Sylvester Stallone leapt into the jeep, yanked out the high ranking officer, pushing him into the mud, and ordered me to drive fast. I’d always wanted to push a high ranking officer into the mud myself. With great admiration I sped off with Sly . It turned out we saved the POW’s, wiped out most of the Vietcong forces, and out-ran a nuclear blast set off in the jungle somewhere. You didn’t even know we had nukes there, did you? Well, anything can happen when Stallone shows up. 

Later, on my way to receive the Medal of Honor from the president, in jumped Jason Bourne, demanding that I just drive. “I just need time to think”, he shouted. He was dripping blood and sweat on my upholstery.  In the rear-view mirror I noticed a number of official looking vehicles in pursuit. I gunned it. It turns out Mat Damon actually is Jason Bourne, and Bourne acts like Mat Damon as a cover. There is no real Mat Damon. Needless to say, my car needed numerous repairs by the time Jason got through with it. It still had cartoon bullet holes in it thanks to Elmer Fudd. In the next Bourne movie, I hear they’re considering George Clooney to play my part. There is a close resemblance. 

It goes on and on. My car has been commandeered by the best Hollywood can produce. While I was on vacation in Hawaii, Steve McGarret of 5-0, jumped in and demanded I drive in pursuit of the Hawaiian drug dealers who were holding Dano hostage. In Australia, Mel Gibson grabbed me to drive him across the apocalyptic desert in search of fuel. Oddly, I never ran out of gas there. Another time I suddenly realized that Keanu Reeves had just materialized on my passenger seat, then vanished again, apparently back to the Matrix. I don’t know what that was all about. Then there was the time the door was flung open, and the Joker jumped in. “Follow that Batmobile”, he said giggling. I had to shove him out. I hate clowns. I think I’ve even had Jason Statham several times. That guy is always in a hurry.

I don’t know why I was chosen to be the guy always being commandeered to “follow that car” anytime a fictional action figure or cartoon character wants to chase some adversary. It’s my calling in life. I’m doomed never to make an appointment or a meeting on time. I missed my own wedding and she wound up marrying the best man. I missed my college graduation. I never even made it to the White House to get my Medal of Honor, thanks to Bourne. It’s a curse in a way, though on the upside, there’s never a dull moment in my fictional life. After all, I heard writer Tom Wolff say once that fiction has to make sense, life doesn’t. It was at the end of his talk, as I missed the talk itself because of you know what. I think it was Jackie Chan that time, chasing down Chris Tucker.

As Mark Twain once said, “I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” Maybe I’m just imagining this, but I gotta run now, the Terminator just got in the car. “Where to, Arnold?”    END

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