The instructor, a burly man named Hank with forearms the size of small tree trunks, looked Dudley up and down,

On a cool Tuesday morning, Dudley Bud found himself standing in front of a hulking red tractor, squinting at it through a haze of bleary-eyed enthusiasm and, well, other things. He’d signed up for tractor safety training to "expand his horizons" and because his mom said, “Dudley, you need skills, honey.” And, at 19, Dudley figured it couldn’t hurt to be licensed for something, even if it meant sitting on a giant piece of rumbling machinery that looked like it could eat him for breakfast.

The instructor, a burly man named Hank with forearms the size of small tree trunks, looked Dudley up and down, taking in his tie-dyed hoodie, slightly scuffed sneakers, and the faint whiff of… something.

“All right, Dudley, first thing’s first. This here’s the throttle, that’s the clutch, and this lever controls the—”

Dudley’s mind was drifting. The controls were all starting to blur together, and his eyes kept returning to the big, shiny ignition button. He zoned back in just in time to hear Hank say, “Whatever you do, don’t press that until we’re ready to start.”

Naturally, Dudley’s fingers itched to press it. He nodded, trying to focus. “Right, Hank. No button-pushing. Got it.”

Hank climbed up on the other side of the tractor to show him the safety features. Dudley figured this was his time to shine. Without thinking it through, he leaned over and gave the big red button a solid poke.

The tractor roared to life, lurching forward with a wild burst. “AW MAN,” Dudley yelped, clutching the wheel for dear life as the tractor careened forward. His foot somehow found the gas pedal, and suddenly Dudley was tearing across the training field in a zigzag that looked less like "safe operation" and more like "deranged joyride."

“DUDLEY! THE BRAKES! PULL THE BRAKES!” Hank’s voice boomed across the field, but Dudley was too busy squinting and trying to remember which lever Hank said controlled the, uh… what did he call it? Hydraulics? Muffler?

“GOT IT, HANK! TOTALLY UNDER CONTROL!” Dudley shouted, convinced for a fleeting moment that he did, in fact, have this under control.

In his panicked tugging at various levers, he accidentally hit one that lifted the front loader up high—just in time to scoop up a massive hay bale, sending it soaring like a slow-motion cannonball through the air. Dudley watched in horror as it tumbled in a graceful arc… straight toward Hank’s lunchbox.

CRUNCH.

When the tractor finally sputtered to a halt, Dudley found himself leaning half-out of the driver’s seat, hair mussed, face flushed, and with no idea how he'd gotten here. Hank stomped over, his jaw set in a mixture of shock and awe. Dudley tried to salvage the situation with a sheepish grin.

“So… uh, does this mean I didn’t pass?”