When a trip to meet his new girlfriend's grandparents ends in disaster (think a crashed ute, an angry wasp and a cranky farmer with a shotgun), Thomas Mitchell knows one thing for sure: bad days make for great stories.

Deep down we're addicted to the downfall of our fellow humans, and if there was ever a point in history when we needed a laugh, it's now.

With that mission in mind, Thomas Mitchell convinced a bunch of people to share their most glorious screw-ups of all time. The result is Today I F****d Up: a collection of true tales that are equal parts hilarious and horrifying. 

The following excerpt is from the first chapter of Today I F****d Up, Where Does Grandad Keep His Guns?, in which Thomas recounts the story of his first interaction with his girlfriend's grandad, Ian.

And just like that, he was gone. Before I could even admit to the very thing I was told never to admit – I can’t drive! – Ian tractored off into the distance.

The panic was real. Unsure what to do, I hopped into the ute, hoping that a hidden talent might emerge, like those people who awake from a coma speaking fluent French.

I scanned the backseat, looking for … what? An instruction manual, a Dummies’ Guide, a cyanide pill. No luck on any front, but there was a shotgun resting casually behind the passenger seat just to make the entire experience more intimidating. It felt very much like I was chauffeuring my own murder weapon.

While I was undeniably car-illiterate, I had forced my mother into a few stressful driving lessons when I first got my learner’s permit. ‘It’s not for you, Thomas,’ she had said, passive-aggressively gripping the dashboard. ‘And it’s certainly not for me.’

But I must have retained something from our few trips because eventually muscle memory kicked in. I tried the key and gave it a little gas, but all it produced was a horrible gurgling sound. I continued this tactic, praying the car would catch flames and then I’d never have to explain myself.
The noise inside the ute was matched by another noise – the tractor starting up. Ian was heading back my way. Oh, dear. 

Turning to a foolproof method that had served me well in the past, I pulled my phone out. There is a YouTube tutorial for everything and if I could just … no signal. No reception. Not a single bar.
Ian pulled up alongside me and I wound down the window. From the outside, it probably looked like two friendly neighbours stopping to exchange pleasantries.

‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ barked Ian, breaking the illusion.

‘You’re stalling it. You need to release the clutch. Have you got it in the right gear, mate?’

All of the above meant very little to me, but by now I was sweating profusely and feeling increasingly nervous.

‘You’re crunching the gearbox! You’re going to fuck my ute!’

The increasing violence in Ian’s voice seemed to spur something on in both the ute and I, miraculously we conjured up the right combination of foot, pedals and gear moves. The ute sprang to life once more.

‘Finally! Now kill the motor and wait for me, I’ll lead the way,’ instructed Ian.

Killing the motor was absolutely off the table. Getting this to start was a one-time deal and there was little chance of it happening ever again.

‘You follow me back,’ I yelled out the window, aware that this was the kind of statement I would pay for later.

If I had known then what I know now, I probably would’ve just kept driving, steered the ute through an open gate and onto the highway. Never look back, Thomas, it’s just you and the open road and a loaded shotgun. But at the time, I figured it was best to do as I was told.

As I neared the house, I recalled that Ian had instructed me not to worry about parking inside the shed: ‘Just leave her outside.’

Hoping to win him over, I decided to go above and beyond. I eased the ute perfectly into position inside the shed, triumphantly bringing my lead foot down on the brake.

I had always rolled my eyes when people describe things as ‘happening in slow motion’. In reality, everything happens in regular time; it’s only when you replay it in your head that it seems to slow down. But, as the ute lurched forward and I found myself sailing through the air, I finally understood what they meant. The back wall crumbled under the force of the crash and the ute came to a stop half-in, half-out.

At the time I had no idea what was happening though I would later learn I had committed a cardinal manual-drive sin. Braking without either pushing on the clutch or putting the vehicle into neutral causes it to jump forward, taking with it your hopes and dreams. Or in this case, the entire back wall of Ian’s shed.