But no! Creaking and grinding like your grandfather at your sister's third wedding, the Knight In Shining Armor, suddenly, inexplicably astride a horse, charges in to pull you clear.
They could be everywhere: opening doors, helping you find your library book, assisting with your bags as you struggle down the road, catching your dog that's pulled a Forrest Gump into the horizon.
But here's the kicker: His services are exclusive to those of a female persuasion. If you are male, the above illustration does not apply to you. The Knight In Shining Armor would watch, unflinching, as you were reduced to a smattering of limbs and organs by the car, then turn calmly to assist an old lady in crossing the road over your corpse.
In an age where chivalry is considered demeaning and people more and more only look out for themselves, perhaps the Knights In Shining Armor could lead us into better times. Or, at the very least, do their best to ensure a population cull.
In the U.K. and U.S. (and probably everywhere else, let's face it), teen depression is worse than it's been for years. It's a good job, then, that we have pastoral support in schools. Over here in the U.K., that amounts to teachers being kind and air-rubbing kid's backs. But you savvy Yanks have Guidance Counselors, who ensure there is no obstruction to a student's success by helping with issues at school or home.
But today, little Cynthia Path-Etique is upset. She just checked her lunch and her mum made her ham sandwiches instead of peanut butter, which she specifically said she didn't want!
Her cause for concern falls way below the radar of the mighty Guidance Counselor and thus goes unnoticed. She is in a land of devilry, exposed to the crippling powers of self-entitlement and Entirely Superfluous Life Issues (ESLI). Who will come to her aid?
Enter the Drama Queen, stage left! Swooping in with all the flamboyance of a sweacock (correct, that is a peacock-swan crossbreed) wearing a sparkling dress and covered in glitter. No grief is too small for the Drama Queen, no wet lettuce too sodden, no selfie too morbid. Their turf is The Pathetic and The Mundane, their tools are Dim-Witted Understanding and Empathetic Superficiality, and their ways are Entirely Obtuse.
You have a beef with your best friend because he bought the jacket you told him you were saving up for? Your sister is talking trash about you behind your back? Tell it to the Drama Queen. She will hear your case and settle the dispute under no uncertain terms. Her word is final, and her judgment is just.
One word of advice, though: Never get her in the same room with the Prom Queen. They'll make Game Of Thrones look like My Little Pony.
Ever had one of those supernaturally long journeys? Where you've been sitting so long that the bones in your arse have literally cut through your muscles and are touching the seat? Where your eyes defy physics and transform into the heaviest matter known to humankind? Where gunning for those approaching headlights suddenly seems like the greatest idea ever conceived? Sounds like you need a Backseat Driver, fully licensed to take over upon your command, or at their own professional discretion.
The opportunities are plenty: You're a terrible city driver? You can't parallel park for shit? You're too busy daydreaming to notice unimportant distractions like pedestrians? You don't know where you're going? You're blind? You're in the middle of a meteor strike and the world is literally falling apart around you? Get a Backseat Driver.
No, seriously, I could do this all day: Got a text? No problem. Ever try to eat a Big Mac while steering? It's impossible without wearing half of it. Road head is now perfectly legal. Well ... no, not really, but at least it's safe with a Backseat Driver to take over.
It feels like the natural progression from satellite navigation. In a world where we type an address on a screen and obey whatever the hell we're told, not really knowing where we're going or what we're doing, why not take it one step further and just hand over the reins of the entire vehicle? Maybe in the future we'll even have artificial Backseat Drivers! And then we'll all be well and truly fucked.
Andy writes books that should not be read, scripts that have actually turned out okay and poetry that should be illegal.
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Andy Hagon
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