Years ago I knew a man whom I'll call Cloyce just to give him a name. He seemed like a good guy, though he spoke in broken English with an accent I never could place. We would see each other occasionally at neighborhood meetings and such.
One day while making small talk before an event he told me that he walked everywhere he went. I didn't think much of it at the time: he could do what he wanted on that count, right? But one night after a meeting it was raining rather hard. Very hard, in fact. Remembering his habit, I offered Cloyce a ride home. In my car, of course.
A look of complete horror flew into his eyes. "No, no, no," he protested vehemently. "Cars bad, cars crash, people die. No, no no." But then he realized the situation and said, trying apparently to mollify me (I was not insulted but I understand his concern) he said, "You're nice man. Nice to offer ride. But no. Cars bad, bad, bad." He raised an umbrella and walked on out into the storm.
All I can think is, he must have had one bad experience with cars. Either that, or he'd heard about my driving.
Hah. I beat every one of you to that punchline, didn't I?
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