At least, I did in my dream. And as I was driving, I was thinking, 'finally I'll have something interesting to blah'g about.' So here it is. Except it didn't really happen.
It started with me having lunch with Trevor at school. I was talking to a teacher when a high school student (who happened to be a kid named Eric that I knew from when I was in high school. He always tried to hang out with my friends and me, but was a lot younger and kind of annoying at times) came up to her saying he didn't feel well and needed a ride back to the high school.
I volunteered. How difficult could that be, right?
So, we walk out to the parking lot and I'm scanning the cars, looking for a jalopy. I guess in my dream, it must have been a time where kids had to buy their own cars, and mummy and daddy didn't just hand over the keys to a new Lexus for their 16th birthday. Anyway, I wasn't finding any clunkers in the parking lot. And then it hit me. He drives an ice cream truck.
Not wanting to back out of my offer and thinking that this would be a fun experience to share about on my blah'g, I hop in and fire up the engine. If you were like me, you learned to drive a car manually (stick shift), and the first several tries at driving were rather jerky with a lot of stalling and peeling out. Multiply that by like a thousand.
To make matters worse, the way to the school was an unserviced gravel road. So, I'm jerkily driving a big, white ice cream truck over rocks, through deep puddles, and horrible potholes. Imagine how bumpy and jarring that would be in an ice cream truck. It would make even the strongest of stomachs weak.
And then it happened. The kid puked. All over. And it splashed. And sloshed. And oozed. And smelled. It was horrible. If you know me, you know I don't handle vomit. At all.
Mercifully, I woke up to the alarm before my stomach was able to react.
So there you have it. I drove an ice cream truck.