I worked for the local limousine service, and it was my job to transport all the bands and artists from the hotel to the venue on the night of the show. Oh, it was a great gig. Britney, Shania, Sting – yeah, I drove ’em all.

But I pushed things a little too far. You see, there are three rules when you drive a limo. Red means stop. Always make sure you know the difference between the gas and brake pedals. And no matter how much he or she begs, threatens or tries to bribe you, never, ever let the client drive.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? Ha! It’s harder then it sounds. Like when I was driving David Lee Roth, who constantly complained that I had it backwards and that red meant to step on the gas. Or like that time Sarah McLachlan was in town and she kept yelling at me whenever I braked for senior citizens, children and kittens. But no matter who I drove, or how much the client yelled at me, I always remembered those three rules. That is, until last week.

I knew this guy was trouble the moment I picked him up at his hotel. He was hollering and swearing at me, yelling that I wasn’t driving fast enough, that I stopped at too many red lights, or pulled over for too many fire trucks and ambulances. Yeah, he was one tough customer, but I kept my cool, concentrated on my driving, and reminded myself about the three rules.

We were about halfway to the venue when he demanded that I let him drive. Oh, he was persistent. After I told him that it was against the rules, he took off his shoe and started banging it against the glass that separates the driver from the passengers. “Look,” I told him. “I didn’t take any of this crap from The Vines, Yes and Aerosmith, and I sure ain’t going to take it from you.”

That just ticked him off even more. He called me every name in the book, including “wimp,” “chicken,” and “Dean supporter.” Well, a man can only stand so much. I pulled over, got out of the limo, opened the back door and tossed him the keys. “It’s show time!” I told him. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Well, you can guess the rest. We tore down Main Street at 90 miles-per-hour, sideswiped two school busses, mowed down a troupe of street mimes like they were bowling pins, and then slammed into the side of van packed with Michael Jackson fans. Oh, the humanity.

Needless to say, that was the end of my limo-driver career. Of course, if I had to do it all over again, I would have handled the situation differently. But that’s life, you know? You always think of these things after the fact, not before. But if I had the chance to do it all over again, I guarantee you that there’s one thing I would have made certain of.

Before I handed him the keys, I would have demanded that Ray Charles show me his driver’s license.