After years of enduring crowded buses and their strange smells, you finally got your driver’s license and a shiny new car. You felt unstoppable, driving to work like you owned the streets, savoring every second of your newfound freedom.

One evening, after a long day at work, you headed to the parking lot. It was packed tighter than a jar of pickles, with cars wedged into every corner. But you told yourself, “No big deal, I’ve got this.” Confidence? Maybe. Overconfidence? Absolutely.

As you started reversing with full focus, a sudden brain freeze hit. Instead of hitting the brake, you hit the gas. BAM! Your car shot backward, slamming into a luxury car behind you. For a moment, you froze, heart racing, before rushing out to inspect the damage.

The luxury car looked like it had survived an apocalypse. You tried everything: wiping it with your sleeve, pressing the dents with your hands, even muttering apologies. But nothing worked.

Realizing you were in deep trouble, you jumped back into your car, kicked off your heels, and decided that running away was the only option. As you sped toward the exit, you clipped a decorative plant pot, scattering flowers everywhere. Did you stop? Nope. Your only mission was to escape, blissfully ignoring the security cameras recording every glorious moment.

The next day, overwhelmed with guilt and anxiety, you decided to take the bus again, its familiar unpleasant smells now strangely comforting. At work, just when you thought you had escaped the whole ordeal, you were summoned to the manager’s office. Each step toward his office felt like walking to your doom.

Inside, the manager sat behind his desk, staring at you with the intensity of a detective solving a case. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before he finally broke it, his voice dripping with sarcasm:

Who’s the Donkey that gave you a driver’s license?