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When I was 6 years old, I started taking tuba lessons. Not by choice of course.

My parents had read an article about some super-baby who joined college at the age of 6 and at the age of 7 became a renowned astrophysicist. They figured that ol’ junior could use some mental development as well. They probably went a little overboard. First they got me a language tutor, then a chess instructor and then they even started to play Mozart during dinner time! Finally came the tuba lessons.

At first it was fun. The instrument was almost as big as I was, and I loved blasting into it until I fell from the chair unconscious. But my tuba instructor didn’t take kindly to my random noises. He held tuba playing to be a sacred art, one worthy of the utmost respect.

Every Saturday morning he would come to my house with a bundle of papers – sheet music and scales that he would make me practice endlessly. Before I began, he would pull out an old hourglass, give me a stern look, and then tip it over. If I made too many mistakes in a row, he would grunt and start the hourglass again from the beginning. It was torture. One Saturday, I had to play hot cross buns for two straight hours!

My mind grew numb over time and I only wanted to escape. One day, I asked to be excused to empty my spit valve and tried to think of a plan. There was no way I was going back in to face that hourglass. But what could be done?

I could rush my teacher, ram the tuba over his head and then make my escape, but the sound of this violence would probably get my parents’ attention…

Just then, I noticed my teacher’s Lamborghini Diablo sitting in the driveway. (Evidently Tuba instructors are raking it in.)The car had just had an amazing new cold air intake system put in and it was ready to race. No time to hesitate, I told myself. It’s now or never.

I threw my tuba aside and jumped into the car.

The engine roared, and suddenly I was off, tearing down the street at 150 mph. I couldn’t really see over the wheel to where I was going but that didn’t matter—speed was the most important thing at that point. I slowed down later, driving over people’s lawns and making my way toward the coast. I felt great.

As I headed toward the ocean, I had to drive along the edges of some cliffs, and that’s where I got into trouble. While trying to make a fast turn, I lost control and the car spun off the road and over a cliff. I fell a thousand feet into a ravine and the car exploded into an enormous fireball. Luckily, the force of the blast ejected me from the car and flung me back up to the top of the ravine where I lay unscathed.

I made the 11pm news. The authorities described me as a ‘precocious miscreant’. I told the cops that my teacher asked me to destroy the car for insurance purposes. They promptly arrested him and gave him a life sentence. Problem solved!

Sure, my parents yelled at me for a couple of hours, but I think they were secretly proud that I had been called ‘precocious’.

The author is interested in car related topics and accessories such as K&N cold air intakes and K&N air filters

I was walking down the road one ordinary day when suddenly, I saw her.

I was totally blown away. For the first time in my life I was in love. No, it wasn’t a girl, it was a car. And not just any car—the most perfect car in the world— a cherry red Mustang.

I had just turned 17 and was envious of all my other friends who had already been driving for a year. Whenever I had to get somewhere, I had to walk, and so it hurt my ego to suddenly have to dive into a bush to avoid being seen when one of my friends whizzed by.

One day as I passed the Mustang I wanted it more than ever. I had to get some quick cash – but how?

Luckily, the circus had just come to town and I passed several workmen who were clearing a large area to set up tents and exhibits. I was intrigued. I had always loved going to the circus when I was younger and was drawn to the colors, sounds and excitement of being a spectator.

So I walked inside the grounds and up to the nearest tent. Outside there was a wooden placard on which was written “Help Wanted – Glamorous Internship Position Available”. “Ah ha!” I thought to myself. This is surely fate at work. A few weeks on the job would put me well on the path to zooming down the highway in my dream car.

I walked into the tent and up to a desk. Behind a stack of ledgers was the manager who was busily counting piles of money. He ignored me, but when I cleared my throat a few times he looked up. “I’m here about an internship,” I said.

His face lit up and he rubbed his hands together. “Excellent,” he said. “We have a position available, and I think you might be perfect for it”

I had visions of stepping into the center of the ring, twirling my magnificent moustache and cracking my whip as the crowed roared. Or perhaps I could manage the freaks! I would feed the thousand pound man, or become the bearded lady’s stylist. It was the circus after all, a place of endless dreams.

The manager stood and regarded me critically.

“The position requires someone who laughs at danger!”

“I’m your man,” I replied calmly.

“Someone who can tame even the most fearsome beast, and can withstand what no ordinary mortal could bear to face!”

“No sweat,” I said with growing confidence.

The manager smiled.

“Excellent, you’re hired,” he said, “Report back here tomorrow at 4 AM.”

The next morning, I woke excitedly and ran all the way to work. But I was in for a surprise.

It turned out my job was to follow the elephants around with a bag and collect their massive droppings.

The manager tried to cheer me up. “This state has very strict laws on pollution,” he would say, “If we don’t keep the local community happy, we lose our license to perform. So in a way, you are single handedly responsible for the success of this entire enterprise.”

Needless to say, I grew disillusioned pretty quickly. The elephants grew to recognize me and my bag and they were always ready for a fresh deposit. Even the clowns were laughing at me.

But in the end it was worth it. After a few weeks, I turned in my poop-bag and bought my hard-won Mustang. I even had some money left over! Now I’m hunting around for Exhaust Headers and
Air Intakes to make my dream car even more perfect.