Okay. Maybe they’re not terrible, crazy drivers (unlikely). Maybe it’s because we’re used to driving ourselves (probably not). Maybe it’s because the person in question just hit their head on the fridge door and then asked you where something was while they were holding it in their hand (now we’re talkin’).
Whatever the reason for the terror, imagined or not, the sh*t in your pants is real enough. So, here are some tips to improve passenger-driver communication on the adrenaline-frenzy of a ride in your signifigant other’s murder machine.
Some call it the “chicken strap,” but it’s not really cowardly to have a healthy instinct for self-preservation, and there’s nothing shameful about a strong dislike for being hooked up to life-support in an Emergency Room. So, hold your head high when you swing like Tarzan from that passenger grab handle so they know to drop out of Warp 11.
Always wearing your seatbelt is just smart, but it means you can’t violently strap yourself in. Instead, you’ll have to wrench your seatbelt tighter to convey to your reckless chauffeur that you would very much like to NOT become a human cannonball fired headfirst through the windshield.
It’s a subtle move, so seriously go 50 Shades of Gray yourself to that seat.
To indicate a psychotic rate of speed or the sudden need to slow the car’s race toward death and destruction, simply pump an imaginary brake on the passenger side like you were stomping out a grease fire with your leg covered in spiders.
Fondly, at a first, place your hand on the driver’s thigh or arm. When they perform one of their daredevil maneuvers, dig your fingers like a starving velociraptor into their leg meat to telegraph your distress.
Use your phone’s voice command feature to loudly ask Google for motor accident statistics. Maybe shout out an image search of what happens when you toss a watermelon at an oncoming high-speed train.
Don’t just imagine going on your Happy-Place-cation, loudly dictate the details of your travels there. Drivers can’t read your mind and it’s obvious that they’re feverishly focused on providing as many near-death vehicular experiences as possible.
Hyperventilating can provide vital oxygen to the blood roaring through your dubstepping heart while sending a clear message of your anxiety to the demon driving the car. It’s also a sensible precaution in case you spew some roller-coaster juice.
This prayer is less for God and more for the person behind the wheel of the speeding murder machine you are presently a passenger in. Do it loudly and remember rocking back and forth counts as pious bowing.
If none of these other tips work, just scream. Really open up your pipes for it, too. Scream and flip out like a horny baboon that made a terrible relationship choice with a beehive.
God has abandoned you. Breath in the darkness and sink down deep into the cold void of hopelessness that is your passenger seat.
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Because kids are excellent drivers. At driving you insane.