Autopilot

An autopilot is a good thing in an airplane.

Not so much in a car.

Today I was on autopilot. Just driving along, singing radio songs, drinking coffee and having a good time.

Too bad “autopilot” missed the turn.

So, there I was, cruising down the highway when suddenly, out of the blue, a Red Light.

Cue Scooby-Doo.

Arrrrrrrroooouuuuugggggghhhhh?? Red Right??? Ruh Roh!

There shouldn’t be a red light on the highway to Austin, but that’s because I wasn’t on the highway to Austin. I was on the road to Moronville, population me.

I turned off the Metallica, put away my guitar, dumped the ineffectual coffee out the window and made a U-turn at the designated U-turn-4-Morons U-turn place. Judging from the tire marks in the lane I wasn’t the first.

When I eventually arrived at my destination I used the excuse that I got stuck behind a herd of sheep, which always worked in England, and that seemed to be OK. Nobody challenged it.

Next time I have my truck serviced I’m going to have them check that autopilot. I think it’s flakey.