Go-kart or go home

Never, never, never go go-karting. I managed to get out alive, but it was only by force of luck.
Let me tell you about it.
It all started on one sunny June day. I had just put my backpack near my desk when a coworker (for privacy reasons, I will call him Larry, although his name is Dave) sidled up with a manic smile.
I’ve grown used to coworkers hovering around with manic smiles because my desk is within reach of the office candy bowl.
So the toothy grin expanding on Larry’s features did not concern me. What did concern me was what the toothy grin said.
Larry explained that another group of investment professionals had asked our office to go go-karting with them.
This didn’t sound too bad. On a similar trip, we had admired the world’s 34th-largest penny, or something like that. Then we went and threw axes (not at each other).
Overall, going go-karting sounded pretty low-key. A perfect end to a summer afternoon, I thought.
Boy, was I wrong.
The minute we stepped into the facility, my office’s guys and gals put on helmets and strapped themselves into what looked like miniature race cars.
I could see another go-kart race going on, which pretty much looked like a couple of blurs chased by a pack of other blurs.
Every now and then, someone would ram into a wall. Since the walls were made of cushions, all you would hear was vroom! Vroom! Boof!
So this was go-kart racing. Before my adrenaline had time to rise, someone had jammed a helmet onto my head.
It cut off pretty much all of my peripheral vision. I nearly fell over my go-kart.

We were not there to joyfully ride in circles with the other office, explained my manager (who looked a lot tougher and meaner in a helmet).
We were there to beat them in a race. If you weren’t first, you were last. Or something.
The minute the flag went down, I hit the gas pedal. I immediately felt like I had left my stomach and whatever other internal organs I possessed behind me.
The course was wavy, so I gave the steering wheel a little wiggle. My car immediately leapt left, then right. I slammed the brakes and just missed hitting my manager.
Looking back on it, I should’ve rammed him. Then I wouldn’t have to meet the deadlines on my projects.
Also because when I swerved to avoid him, I went straight into a cushioned wall. Boof!
In the time it took me to figure out how to get the go-kart out of the cushions, the race was over.
We had lost. Our average lap time was slower than the other office’s. “Thanks to Alex,” sniffed Larry.
This was a low blow, but I kept my cool. I knew one day I would make fun of Larry in a newspaper column.
Looking back on it, perhaps speeding around a race course wasn’t as scary as I thought it was. Perhaps, once you get over the feeling of leaving your stomach behind, it’s even a little fun.
And if, like me, you were unwillingly dragged into go-karting, remember one thing.
It’s a lot safer than driving in New York.

Copyright 2025 Alexandra Paskhaver, distributed exclusively by Cagle Cartoons newspaper syndicate.