I went to Melaka yesterday.

It was a business trip, to visiting some potential customers. I went with two guys from my office.

One of the guys, I’ll call him Charlie, did the driving. Charlie drives an Alfa Romeo. I don’t know the model or the engine size, but it’s a sporty looking silver car.

I should have realised something was amiss as soon as I saw the car. Red leather interior. Big stereo with lots of flashy buttons and bright coloured lights, like a little space ship. Sports package gear box.

Boy racer car.

My other colleage immediately took the back seat and fastened his seatbelt. I clambered into the front passenger seat.

The drive out of Singapore wasn’t too bad. Sure, Charlie was a little heavy on the accelerator, but no worse than most taxi drivers. Once we got across the Second Link at Tuas and into the wide open space of Malayisa, full realisation began to dawn.

We covered the first 56 km in 20 minutes. Using a simple calculation of speed = distance/time, this tells me that we averaged a speed of 168 km/hr. And we stopped twice to pay tolls. I couldn’t see the speedometer from where I was sitting, and frankly I’m not sure I would have wanted to looked at it even if I could.

You know those drivers who haul ass down the outside lane of the motorway flashing their lights and beeping their horn at everything and everyone? The ones who overtake on the inside and swerve in and out of traffic irregardless of safety? The ones who occasionally dart onto the hard shouldor to get around pesky traffic? The ones who accelerate into the back of vehicles that are in the process of overtaking a slower vehicle on the inside lane and then slam on the brakes narrowly avoiding certain death?

Charlie is one of those drivers.

I sat transfixed, occasionally gasping out loud in horror.

“What time is the meeting?” I asked, knowing full well it was 10.30am.

“10.30am” said Charlie.

“I think we’re going to make it on time. Maybe we don’t need to go so fast.”

“I’m really hungry”

“Ummm, I’ve got an apple in my bag. Do you want that?”, thinking maybe he would slow down some if I fed him.

“Yes, please!”

So I pass him the apple.

Big mistake.

Now we are travelling at speeds in excess of 170 km/hr, and my driver only has one hand on the wheel.

We bounce over an uneven portion of the road, and swerve to avoid a pothole.

I squeal. Charlie apologises, but continues gunning it down the outside lane.

Eventually, we arrived in Melaka, safe and sound, if a little shaken.

The return journey was a little less hairy, but I’m not planning on getting into Charlie’s car again. Ever.

[originally published on my site last year]