A distant relative told a story from Soviet times.
Close to Sushi. The director is a clever person, from time to time equipped for employees a bus to Moscow - for shopping. Who lived then knows. Driving in such cases was usually the director's driver.
One day the driver got sick. Instead, the driver was sent from the carrier - he had the rights of the required category, in the army received, it is unclear how and why. He only travelled all his life on the fields and farms, and went to the city a couple of times. He felt very insecure driving, was very nervous, feared everything around and did not notice much. They went straight to Moscow. Then it went worse. Twice driving on the red and barely having an accident with victims, the driver fell into a stupor. He got in the car and just looked straight. We would have travelled all over Moscow if there were a straight road. But it didn’t happen, I had to go somewhere. Meaningful turns in the right direction were not available to the driver, curved together with the flow. Wherever he is, there he is. In short, I was lost.
To stop and look at it is not possible. You can’t drive to the side, you can’t see who’s driving to the right. Don’t turn your head to look in the mirror – your neck is rusted. The people were nervous. Standing up at another light. The driver gathered his will in his fist, hardly looking to the right. There is a taxi in the neighborhood. The driver opened the passenger door and said to the man sitting next to him:
Ask the taxi driver where we are going.
The man went out, as said, to the street, approached the yellow "Volga" and knocked on the window. The driver dropped the glass and looked unhappy at the man.
“Comrade,” said the man, “and where are we going?
The taxi driver was surprised. He answered almost politely:
Fuck you know where you are going!
“Thank you, comrade,” said the man and went back into the bus. He doesn’t know, maybe not local.