Duh Racer

The most unlucky race car driver, ever!

Duh Racer

 

Chapter One:

 

 

     The crowd all blurred together, until to driver Johnny Ray Wray, they appeared to be one continuous gray streamer.  He was driving the racecar sponsored by Chassen Rainbows Fine Foods, in the Indy-Like 500.  He knew this race was being televised, and it was the race that would make his name a household one in the USA.  Up until today, he’d always had some unfortunate incident keep him from taking the checkered flag.  Be it anything from a flat tire, to an equipment malfunction, you name it, he’d had it happen to him.  But not today; today, he was well in front, and coming out of the final turn towards the finish line, and his very first racing victory.  He caught a fleeting glimpse of a T.V. camera, which would show the world once and for all, he wasn’t the World’s Most Unlucky Driver.  No running out of gas; no equipment failure"at that precise moment, the engine seized, sending lumps of metal shooting into the air, and skidding down the track behind him.  No, not now!  He was this close.  He glanced behind him, but saw only empty oval.  He had been well out in front when the engine blew, and he hoped he had enough momentum, and a big enough lead, to coast across the finish line first.  He looked ahead and saw he was almost there.  He was going to make it, a first place finish.  He could almost taste the victory champagne, could almost feel the hug for winning he would receive from Miss Indy-Like 500, the winner of the beauty contest held before the race, could"suddenly, behind him, appeared another racecar.

 

     “Come on, you b*****d,” he implored his now-non-motorized car; just a few more feet.  As he saw the checkered flag about to drop, the other car flashed by him, winning the race.  Crap!   He coasted across the line to take 2^nd place.  He was crushed.

 

 

     He awoke to the sound of his telephone ringing.  As he stumbled blindly across his bedroom, he heard his mother’s voice,

 

     “Johnny Ray, are you there?  I am just calling to invite you over tonight for dinner, I’d love to have you, and I’m sure your father feels the same way.”

 

      S**t, s**t, s**t!  Dinner with his parents was about the last thing he wanted to do.  Picking up the receiver, he said,

 

     “Hello, Mother, I’m here, and dinner sounds great.  About what time should I be there?”

 

     His mother answered, “Oh, how about 6pm?”

 

     “6pm, I’ll be there.  See you then.”

 

     He hung up the phone.  Great; dinner with his parents.  He already knew how the evening would go.  His father criticizing him at every turn, and his mother telling him things would get better soon.

 

 

     He knocked on his parent’s door, and was greeted by his mother’s smiling face. 

     “Come in, Johnny Ray; I thought we’d hold off on dinner for an hour or so, that way we can talk a little first.”

 

     Super!  What better way to cap off a horrible day, than being coddled and treated like a loser piece of c**p, at the same time?  Reluctantly, he sat down on the couch next to his father, who was in his recliner chair.

 

     “Hi, Dad, how are you?”  He was immediately sorry he’d asked, because his father replied,

 

     “Oh, not too good, my hemorrhoids are killing me.  It’s like I’m sitting on a fiery-hot cattle prod.  I’ve also got this damn excessive phlegm problem.  And, I’ve also got"”

 

     Johnny had to shut his dad up, before he spewed his cookies everywhere, so he interrupted him, cutting in to say, “Gee, Dad, that’s too bad.  Did you catch any of the Indy-Like 500 on T.V?”

 

      His father flashed him a disgusted look, and replied, “Yeah, I did.”

 

      Johnny added, “Can you believe my bad luck?”

 

     “Bad luck is something you---I shouldn’t say any more.”

 

     Johnny knew he shouldn’t have, but asked, “Something you what?”

 

     “No, I really shouldn’t.”

 

     “No, really Dad, go ahead.”

 

     “Well, okay, but you’re not going to like it.  Good luck and bad is something you bring on yourself.  If a guy goes around thinking negative thoughts all the time, negative things are bound to happen to him.”

 

     Johnny was immediately angry and defensive.  “Yeah, you’re right Dad, all my negative thoughts caused my engine to seize.”

 

     “You see; I said you weren’t going to like it, but you made me say it.”

 

     That was about the time his mother, trying to play peacemaker, piped up with,

 

“Johnny Ray, your luck will change soon!”

 

 

     Johnny Ray Wray was way out front of the Atomic Power 300, the next race after the Indy-Like 500.  The previous Saturday he had endured both his usual bad luck, and dinner with his overly-critical father and his over-protective mother, but those memories were washed out of his mind by this weeks racing.  He was two laps away from taking the checkered flag, and proving to his father his bad luck had been just that, bad luck.  That his having negative thoughts had nothing to do with---suddenly, his car hit a patch of oil left from a car that had withdrawn and coasted into the pits on the previous lap, and, when it caught dry pavement again, caught and went airborne, flipping several times before coming to rest; the car now a twisted, shattered hunk of now-worthless c**p. 

 

 

     Thanks to the safety harness, Johnny Ray was fine, but the car was ruined.  The very first thing he thought of was not how fortunate he was to walk away from the crash, but that he could hear what his father would say.

    

     “See?  Didn’t I tell you?  Negative thoughts lead to negative things happening.”

 

    

     Johnny Ray was totally bummed out.  Chassen Rainbows Fine Furniture had dropped their sponsorship of his racing car, not that he had one now that his car had been totaled.  Now, he’d have to find another sponsor.  They had told him fixing the car was too expensive, and they where going to find another driver for the new car.  It was just another example of his bad luck.

 

 

      Johnny Ray Wray was back!  S**t-canned by his sponsor, Chassen Rainbows Fine Foods, he had found a new sponsor, Peaceful Glen Mortuary.  The irony of being sponsored by a mortuary was not lost on him, but he was in no position to pick another sponsor, for there were none.   He was driving a brand-new car, and boy, was she ever a beauty; gleaming dials told him everything about how the car was performing. Everything was brand new, and he’d gotten a say in what he wanted.  He had it all.  This was the culmination of months of uncertainty, months of wondering if he’d ever get back on the track.  He had all but given up, when Blaine Dour, the owner of the Mortuary had called.  At first, he thought he was calling to try and sell him a plot, but he had told him he had been thinking about ways to rev up his company’s image, and would he be interested in having his company sponsor him?  Would he, he had almost screamed, “yes!”, into the receiver. 

 

 

     Then, he had met with Dour, and helped design the racecar in which he was returning to racing.  He was currently running in 2^nd place, but was about to pass the lead car, and take over 1^st.  He swung wide to pass, both cars were even, and then he was all alone, with nothing but open pavement ahead.  He was in 1^st place! 

 

 

     He was on the last lap.  Nothing could stop him from winning the race.  In the past, something had always happened at the last moment, such as mechanical failure, or something spilled on the track, such as motor oil from another car, but this was a new car, purring like a kitten, and the odds of hitting something spilled were astron---suddenly, he had had to swerve to avoid a deer, running across the track.  He tried to correct his turn, but over-corrected, and the car spun out of control, veered straight into the wall of the final turn before the finish line, crumpling the fiberglass body, and sending one wheel bounding down the track, and across the finish line. 

 

 

     Johnny Ray sat inside his ruined race car, stunned and in shock, due to his unbelievably bad luck.  A deer? 

 

 

     “Hi Mom, hi Dad,” Johnny said as he stopped by their house to pick up his suit.  He had lived here until 2 years ago, when he’d moved into his own place.  He’d just come from a briefing, where race track officials had explained that the deer he had almost struck had apparently gained access onto the race track via an unseen hole in the security fence.  Well, a lot of fricking good that explanation did him!  As a result of his misfortune, Peaceful Glen Mortuary was no longer going to sponsor him, and he was forced to look for other employment; hence the need for his suit.  This latest bit of bad luck had not only cost him his employment racing cars, but now he would be subjected to the scorn and ridicule of his father.  He had briefly thought about buying a new suit and having no need of going to his parent’s house, but he was broke.  His mother greeted him warmly, but all his father did to acknowledge his presence was to nod ever-so-slightly. 

 

     “Dad, how goes it?”  Oh, he cringed inwardly, for his dad’s list of complaints was endless.

 

      “Well, not to good.  My doctor says I have an infection in my leg.  It’s draining pus everywhe"”

 

     “Glad to hear it, Dad, I’ll just get my suit and be on my way.”

 

     Then his father said, “You know Son, when you called and said you needed your suit to go out looking for a job, your mother and I were so relieved.  You weren’t cut out for the racing deal.  You had such a bad attitude; it’s a good thing you got out of it.  Now you can get a job where your negative attitude won’t affect your job performance, like Letter Carrier.”

 

     Johnny saw red.  “I  have a poor attitude? What about yours, Dad.  You sit around here and complain about everything.  I’m afraid to ask you what’s new, because you’ll b***h about this, you’ll b***h about that, and you’ll keep on b******g until I cut you off!”

 

     “Oh, fine, this is the kind of attack I get, from my only son.  Well, you won’t have to listen to me b***h much longer; because I have a feeling my time is near.”

 

     Sure dad, lay on the guilt with a fricking knife”, thought Johnny to himself.  “I’m sorry Dad, but we can talk about this next time I come over.”  

 

     “Yeah, if I’m not dead by then.”

 

     S**t-o-dear!

 

 

     Johnny had found work driving forklift in a dinner ware plant’s storage warehouse.  This was only his 2^nd day on the job, and he was already bored.  His job consisted of hauling boxes filled with new dishes, and either stacking them up, or taking them down and filling a customer’s order.  A trained seal could do this job, for there was absolutely no creativity or independent thought required.  That had been his state of mind, until Gary, a forklift driver for the Hobson’s Glass Wear, the other company that shared the warehouse, challenged Johnny to a race, down to the far wall, around the stacked-up boxes of dinner ware, and back.  At last, something causing a little adrenaline! 

 

 

     They each sat at the starting line, which was a piece of tape on the floor.  Johnny sort of hated telling the guy he had, before this, been a race car driver.       

 

 

     Gary Tallow sat in his forklift, ready to start the race.  He had told Johnny that he wanted to race because he needed something to relieve the boredom, but in truth, he’d heard how what a s**t-a** terrible driver Wray was, and wanted his job.  He had applied for it originally, or so he had thought, but unbeknown to himself, his application had fallen behind the filing cabinet, and had gone unseen by anyone at the dinner ware company.  He thought Johnny had been chosen over him, and couldn’t understand that, for the life of him. 

 

 

     The race had started, and as he’d fully expected, Johnny pulled steadily away. Just as he’d suspected, his racing savvy and learned reflexes were giving him a decided advantage.  Tallow was no match for him.

 

 

     Gary Tallow made a good show of trying to keep up, as he slowly let off on the accelerator.  Just as he’d hoped, Johnny Ray Wray was going as fast as the machine would carry him, and soon he was bound to grow careless, and crash into something, which in this warehouse meant something fragile, and breakable.

 

 

     There was no sign of Tallow.  Johnny knew he should back off on the speed and take it easy, but racing was wired into his brain, and the only way he knew was to go b***s out.  He was about to head into the corner, and he was focused like a laser beam on the turn.  Starting into the turn, he realized he was going too fast, and put his foot on the brake pedal.  The fricking thing wasn’t slowing down; the accelerator was stuck open!  It started to go up on two wheels, and Johnny knew if he didn’t straighten out the wheel a lot, the fricking thing would flip onto its side.  He didn’t have enough distance when he straitened the wheel, and the forklift struck a glancing blow to a stack of dinner wear boxes, then bounced off the wall, sending him like a sack of s**t wearing a jet pack, sliding down the concrete floor.  Miraculously, he was uninjured, but when his forklift had bumped the bottom box of dinner wear, it dislodged the top few, and they came crashing down, where they exploded pieces of shattering dinner ware; the fragile dinner ware; all across the cement floor. 

 

 

     Gary Tallow watched Johnny’s body crash into the boxes of breakable china ware, saw as the boxes came crashing down to the floor, sending razor-sharp slivers of broken china everywhere.  He couldn’t believe the noise!  His plan had succeeded, beyond his wildest dreams.

 

 

      “Johnny Ray Wray!” the woman who worked at the Unemployment Office yelled, so she could be heard over the racket made by all the other unemployed people, who were milling around, talking, while they awaited their turn to talk to someone.  Johnny slumped his way over to the woman who had called his name, sat down, and announced,

 

     “I’m Johnny Ray Wray.”

 

     “Hello, Mr. Wray, I’m Fern Walters, and I’ll be handling your claim,” the woman behind the desk said, without looking up.  “If you’ll just fill out these forms, we’ll process your claim.”

    

 

     An hour later, Johnny sat while Mrs. Walters looked through the information he had provided. 

 

     “Oh, it says here you were a professional race car driver.  How unusual!  We don’t get a lot of those in here.  Well, let me see.  Oh yes, here’s a potential job you might be interested in.  Vinny’s Italian Restaurant is looking for a delivery driver.  Of course, it starts off at minimum wage, but there’s an opportunity for quick advancement.”

 

     “Advancement to what?” he asked, rather sarcastically.

 

     “Ah, it says here, to assistant cook’s apprentice.”

 

     Oh, wow, to assistant cook’s apprentice!  “That’s it?  Don’t you have anything else?” he asked.

 

     Fern Walters gave him a withering look, and replied, “Mr. Wray, I’m only looking at driving jobs, as you may be able to apply your, ah, unique abilities.  I’m afraid we don’t get many employers who are looking for a race car driver.  I’m afraid we probably won’t be able to help you if you’re not willing to expand your range of possibilities.”

 

 

     Johnny Wray knew he was wasting his time.  In order to qualify for unemployment, he had to apply for work at 3 different businesses.  Today, he was putting in an application to Wide Slim’s Patio Furniture Warehouse.  Their ad in the paper said they were looking to hire a delivery driver.  He opened the door to their showroom, wandered around a few minutes, and a man wearing a tailored 3-piece suit came up to him and said,

 

     “And what can I help you with, today?  You look like a man who’s in the market for an entire set of patio furniture!”

 

     “Sorry, but I’m actually here in answer to your help wanted advertisement in the paper about the delivery driver wanted.  Is the job still available?”

 

     “Oh, no, I’m sorry, but that position has been filled.”

 

     “Well, thanks anyway.  Would you mind signing one of your business cards?  I need to prove I came in and tried to find work.”

 

     The man looked Johnny over and responded, “Well, that particular job opening has been filled, but I need a groundskeeper; that particular job entails some driving”

 

 

     Johnny looked distastefully at the acres of yard surrounding the showroom, switched gears on the riding lawnmower, and started up the hill, going all of 3 miles an hour!

 

                                        Chapter Two:

 

      Ah, the roar of the crowd.  To Johnny Ray Wray, there was nothing like it when you won the race and climbed out of your race car!  It had never happened to him, personally, but it sure looked like fun for the winners.  That was his dream; to win a race and get that kind of adulation for himself.  And now, thanks to his neighbor Red, he would have a chance to win one.  He had been working, mowing acres of grass surrounding Wide Slim’s Patio Furniture Warehouse, bored out of his mind and resigned to a life of tedious monotony, when his neighbor Red came knocking on his door, asking him if he (Red) built a race car, would he (Johnny) be interested in driving it?  Yes, back for the track attack!                                                                                                                          

                           

 

     They had worked their fingers to the bone, and, after finishing their 6^th case of beer, over several days, at last were done with their racing car; the racing car on which Johnny had all his hopes and dreams pinned for any kind of a future for himself.  It looked as good as they were capable of making it look, although it seemed pretty pathetic to Johnny.  Their homemade paint job was streaked and lumpy, and the number 1 they had painted on the hood looked more like a crooked 7 to him, but it ran, at least for now. 

 

 

     Today was qualifying for the Stylish Siding 500, and they had unloaded the car from the flatbed trailer on which it rode.  They’d endured incredulous looks and what looked to them like open laughter driving in.  Well, no one would be laughing after they won the race. 

 

 

     Unloading the race car in the pits, they saw fellow racer Ned Tungsten looking disdainfully at their car. 

 

     “You guys surely aren’t serious about racing that hunk of s**t, are you?  If you are, Johnny, I hope your coffin will fit inside, because you’re going to need it; that thing’s a deathtrap!”

 

     “She might not look like much, but she can fly,” replied Johnny.

 

     “Yeah, apart maybe!” added Tungsten, as he walked away, shaking his head and chuckling. 

 

 

     They had driven the car up to the person who certified the car as fit to race.  He said,

 

     “This is a joke, right?  Who put you up to this, was it Stan?  Good one Stan!”

 

      Johnny and Red looked sheepishly at each other, and Johnny said, “No, sir, Stan didn’t put us up to anything, and this is no joke.  We built this car ourselves.”

 

      The grin vanished from the guy’s face, and a laugh died in his throat.  “I’m sorry, gentlemen.  I thought this was Stan playing a practical joke on me.  This car is in no shape or form ready to race; I mean, look at it.  Besides being lop sided, the safety devises aren’t up to our code.”

 

     “Excuse me, but I don’t see what the problem is,” said Johnny.

 

     “Well for starters, there’s got to be more than a seatbelt.  There’s no roll-bar, and no fire extinguisher, just to name a couple.”

 

     “Oh, we must have forgotten those things.  We’ll just run home and grab them.”

 

     The exasperated race official replied, “Run home and get them?  The roll-bar takes a while to build into the car; you can’t just throw it in later.”

 

     “Well, who made you the sheriff?” Johnny then asked.

 

     “You can call me all the names you want…”

 

     “Okay, you helmet-gorfing piece of s**t, open-sore, as**-faced, pigeon-h****r!” screamed Johnny.

 

     “Thank you, sir.  Now, if you’ll allow me to finish, I was about to say there is absolutely no way this car will race in this race.  There is about 100 reasons why, pick one.”

 

     Johnny and Red were both pissed, but there was nothing they could do.                                  

                                           

 

     If an official race wouldn’t let them drive, they would have to keep Johnny sharp for racing in the meantime.  They found a ½ mile straight stretch of road, with a twisting, turning stretch immediately following; which would be perfect.  He could let the car run b***s out on the straight stretch, then downshift and brake when he hit the curves.  They placed the car at the beginning of the straightaway, and Johnny eased himself into the rather cramped driver’s seat.  Making sure his seatbelt was securely fastened; he gripped the steering wheel and knew he was ready.  Red handed him a bottle of cheap champagne and told him it was for after driving, but Johnny thought there was no time like the present.  Red said,

 

     “Are you sure that’s very wise?  After all, you’re just about to drive a racecar.  You’ll want to keep your senses clear.”

 

     Johnny replied, “Oh, one little drink’s not going to hurt; besides, I’ve driven before after a couple of drinks, perfectly fine.”

 

     Red started to reply, “Yeah, but those cars weren’t racecars.  I don’t thin"”

 

      “Oh, quit worrying!  I’ll be fine,” and opening the bottle, Johnny said, “Here’s to good luck,” took a healthy swig, and tried passing the bottle to Red.

 

     “I pass,” he said.

 

     “Well, suit yourself.  That leaves more for me, bottoms up!” Johnny answered, hoisting the bottle high into the air, guzzling till it was ½ gone.  “Whew, does that ever hit the spot!”  Then he drained the remaining liquid, told Red to time it until he returned, and floored the gas, with a “Yee-haw!” yell. 

 

 

     He raced down the straightaway, until the car looked to Red like it was almost flying.  This car was a rocket.  Faster and faster it went, with Red expecting to see Johnny apply the brakes. 

 

     “Now, Johnny, now!” he whispered. 

 

     But Johnny had already tried the brake pedal; nothing.  The brake pedal went limply to the floorboards, and stayed there.  In a panic, he looked up to see the first turn rapidly approaching.  He flew into the turn, and it seemed the car went up on two wheels.  Protesting metal somehow stayed in one piece, as the car barely made it through.  Wow, that had been a clos"suddenly, he was already approaching the 2^nd turn.  With a sickening feeling, he realized there was no way the speeding car was going to make this one.  Into the turn he went, turning to no avail, as the car went straight for a stand of trees lining the roadway.  S**t-o-dear!  He desperately swung the wheel hard to the left, as the car left the roadway, somehow narrowly missing the trees, and sailing out into a vacant field.  The car struck hard, as Johnny fought to control the steering.  Still going very fast, the car went into a parallel trench, then went airborne and smashed on its top, and started rolling.  Something struck him a glancing blow to the face, then the car, or rather the drivers seat and the steering wheel, which were both somehow still attached to the frame, came to a sliding stop, after several rolls.  Johnny sat, adrenaline coursing through his veins, staring at the open sky above him, and the unobstructed view of the vacant field stretching away from him on both sides.  He glanced down at his feet, and, unbelievably, the empty liquor bottle, which he had carelessly thrown on the passenger’s seat when he had finished it, was lying there, unbroken.

 

 

     He had survived the crash, physically unscathed, but a mental wreck.  He had been extremely fortunate to walk away from the incident, and he knew it.  Now, he wouldn’t even ride in a car, let alone drive one.  He’d already lost his job after the wreck, because he had been riding to his first day on the job, and suddenly had a flashback to his terrible wreck, freaked out, and screamed for the guy driving to pull over and let him out.  There’d been a message on his answering machine, once he had walked home, telling him that because of his unusual problem, they were forced to let him go.  How in the hell did he end up like this?

 

 

     Once again, his mother had called to invite him for Sunday dinner.  He had silently swore, and said that sounded lovely, except for the fact he was no longer driving and wouldn’t be able to make it. 

 

     “Oh, we can fix that.  Why are you no longer driving? Your father will stop by your house after his poker game with the guys, and pick you up,” his mother replied.

 

     Fab-u-fricking-tastic!  “Oh Mom, I couldn’t ask Dad to go that far out of his way, and I’m no longer driving because I was involved in a bad wreck.  I’m okay, but it really shook me up.”

 

     “Well, I’m glad you’re okay; and nonsense, he drives right by your place on his way home.  It really wouldn’t be a problem.”

 

     C**p.  “Okay Mom, if you’re sure it’s not a bother?”  Please agree that it would be!

 

     “No, it’s not a bother; he’ll stop by there on his way by; looking forward to seeing you tonight.  Bye, Johnny Ray.”

 

     “Bye Mom, I guess I’ll be seeing you tonight.”  S**t!  Oh well, he had to learn to deal with his new fear of even riding in a car.

 

 

     The knock came at his front door, all-to-soon.  Damn, his b******g father was here, already.  Johnny went to answer it, and his father didn’t even say hello; just said,

 

     “Well, are you ready to go, There’s something wrong with my foot, it feels like it’s broken, and standing like this, or walking, sends pain shooting up my leg and into my groin.”

 

     Here we go, thought Johnny.  It was the start of his father’s personal pity parade.

 

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he replied.

 

     “Then, let’s go,” his father then said.  He turned, took 2 steps, and grabbed his leg with both hands.  “Oh b***s, does this b***h hurt!” he shouted.

 

     This was embarrassing!  They somehow made it to the car, his father grimacing in pain. 

 

     “Oh, you’ll have to…owe….sit in back.  A couple of the guys I play poker with needed a ride home.”

    

     Oh.  He slid into the back, and immediately started to panic.  He couldn’t do this.  His father caught a glimpse of his terrified face in the rearview mirror and said,

    

     “What is it?  Does this have anything to do with your now being a pansy about riding in the car?”

    

     That royally p****d him off, and he forced himself to remain seated.  There was absolutely no way he was going to show fear in front of his father.  “No, I’m fine Dad.”

 

     “What’s the matter?’ asked the man sitting next to him in the backseat.

 

     “Oh, my son has decided it’s too scary to ride in the car,” his father replied sarcastically.  “Oh, by the way Johnny, this is Harry Teal, and the man sitting in the front is Dave Isthmus.  Gentleman, allow me to introduce Johnny Jr., my son, although I’m embarrassed to admit that.”

 

     Great introduction, Dad!  “Nice to meet you both,” he said.  They both acknowledged him, and the car pulled out onto the street.  Immediately, Johnny forgot his anger and felt black waves of dread wash over him. 

 

     “Stop the car, I have to get out!” he yelled. 

 

     His father applied the brakes, shouting, “Owe, my leg,” then “What’s wrong?  Owe!”

 

     “I just cannot do this; it brings a flashback to my wreck!”

 

     “Oh, for crying out loud, just get out, you whine about everything, and I, for one, am sick of having to listen to it!”

 

     “Me, I’m a whiner?  That’s just wonderful, a complaint about my whining, from the King of Whiners himself.  ‘Oh my leg’, or ‘My leg’s draining so much pus.’  You should know about all about whining, you do enough of it.”

 

     “Get out, now!” demanded his father.

 

     Johnny was getting disgusted looks from the others in the car. 

    

     “You see what I have to deal with…” said his father angrily as the car pulled away. 

 

     Johnny had a long walk back to his house, and he was angry, but it was sure beginning to look as if he’s damn well have to get used to walking everywhere, because this scared s**t wasn’t going away, anytime soon!

 

 

 

The End