Agnes, a sweet old lady with a penchant for floral dresses and a surprisingly competitive spirit, was applying to be a stunt driver. The interviewer, a young man named Dave with meticulously gelled hair and a permanent air of exhaustion, sighed as he looked over her application.
“Mrs. Higgins,” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral, “with all due respect, your previous experience is… limited. You mentioned competitive bingo?”
Agnes beamed. “I hold the county record! And I once parallel parked a Buick LeSabre in a space barely bigger than itself!”
Dave massaged his temples. “Right. Well, this isn’t exactly bingo, Mrs. Higgins. This is high-speed chases, death-defying jumps, narrowly avoiding exploding buildings… Are YOU Crazy Enough?”
Agnes adjusted her spectacles. “My dear boy, I’ve raised six children, survived three husbands, and once accidentally joined a biker gang on a cross-country trip thinking it was a quilting convention. Exploding buildings seem rather tame by comparison.”
Dave still looked unconvinced. “Okay, Mrs. Higgins, let’s just see what you can do. We’ll start with a simple maneuver: parallel park between those two monster trucks.” He pointed to two enormous, ridiculously oversized trucks parked awkwardly in the lot.
Agnes smiled, got into the test car – a tiny, bright yellow Fiat – and revved the engine. She floored it, sending the Fiat into a screeching spin. She narrowly missed a stack of tires, bounced off a strategically placed water cooler, and somehow, miraculously, wedged the little Fiat perfectly between the two monster trucks.
Dave stared, mouth agape. Agnes rolled down the window. “So,” she said, cheerfully adjusting her floral-patterned scarf, “do I get the job?”
Dave gulped. “Mrs. Higgins,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “I think we need to re-evaluate our definition of ‘crazy’. The job’s yours. Just… promise me you’ll leave the water cooler alone next time.”
Agnes winked. “No promises, dearie. But tell me, about that accidental biker gang? Do they need a getaway driver?”
