Live Uncomfortably

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As I sit in the flat bed of gray and rust colored pickup, I think to myself, “My mom isn’t going to like this story.”

Sitting next to, and across from me, against the four corners of the flat bed, are three newly acquired friends from the hostel. We all share in the sentiment that this is not a good idea.

One of my friends hands our future driver his camera to take a photograph. I smile.

Moments earlier I was standing, firmly on the ground, outside of a club. Moments earlier I had a firm grasp on the direction of my life. Now, I’ve handed that control over to someone I just met. And now the cool night air is blowing through my hair as we drive away from the club and that security.

Winding our way through the dilapidated streets on the outskirts of Cordoba, Argentina I can’t help but feel that this would be a horrible place to die. But, then again, is it better to die in one place versus another? Probably.

I console myself saying I’ve lived a damn good life.

We are on our way to an after-hours club - “Not too far” our driver screams.
“You’re not drunk are you?” we ask.
“Not too much.”
“Drive slow,” we all scream.

There’s always a push-pull that goes on in my brain. Part of me lives for crazy moments like these and part of me knows how dumb this is. If I were back home I wouldn’t have dreamed of getting in this strange guy’s truck. My first question would have been, “Are you drunk?” But it wasn’t.

And now there’s a growing tension developing in the back of the flat bed. We want to get there now. The faster we’re out of the truck bed the better. Hurry up we think. But then, no, we don’t want him speeding.

I look to the front seat and see my driver bending down - reaching for something…or stashing something. His head and attention bobs from the road to his work below. “What are you doing?” I think.

Now my friend is taking a video.

A stop sign appears in the not-so-far distance. He’s still fiddling below his seat. His friend in the passenger seat is now helping him. Do they see it? God I hope he sees it. It looks like there are some cars up there. Stop doing that. I’m about to say something…

He stops.

The engine whirrs back to life and we round the corner. I get visions of news stories in my head. “He was such a bright young man with his whole life ahead of him. Why would he get in that truck bed?” I say this out-loud and everyone laughs.

Then suddenly it happens. The truck halts…

…We’re at the club. It really wasn’t that far.

We pay the 20 peso cover charge. We enter the club. We realize it’s a gay club. We leave 1/2 hour later in a taxi cab home.

As we drive, the taxi narrowly misses hitting another car. We laugh.

Live Uncomfortably isn’t about living stupid although at times I seem to confuse the two.

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My James Bond lifestyle ebook will be done and ready in the next couple of weeks. I’ll describe more practical ways to live an exciting life than riding in the back of speeding pickup truck.