In 2015, I lived in Jupiter, had quit my job in radio and moved back home to Jollyville, Texas, to live with my mom.

She had been diagnosed with kidney cancer, and I wanted to be there with her. At the same time, I was working toward my master’s degree in Integrated Marketing Communications from Georgetown University—a fantastic online program.

I needed an income, so I went back to work at the Chili’s in Round Rock where I had worked about two decades earlier.

Because apparently that wasn’t enough going on in my life, I also had a side hustle.

My high school friend Kim ran a production business at Circuit of the Americas, home of the Formula 1 United States Grand Prix in Austin. She would hire me for a day here and there, and I’d make a few hundred bucks doing whatever needed to be done.

And I mean whatever.

One day, I was picking up Taylor Swift’s dad from the airport.

Another time, I was buying as much plastic sheeting as I could find to protect sound equipment from the elements.

It was random. It was fun. And it paid better than the Chili’s shift.

One of the jobs involved driving celebrities and VIPs around.

The rule was pretty simple: Be polite, but don’t engage in conversation unless they engage with you.

Then one day, my passenger was Serena Williams.

She and what I assumed were members of her team needed to get back to their hotel in downtown Austin.

As we drove away from the track, Serena made a comment about how someone really needed to pave the dirt roads around Circuit of the Americas.

I agreed.

And because apparently I have never met a piece of small talk I couldn’t turn into a conversation, I mentioned that I had just moved back to Texas from Jupiter, Florida.

I told her that I could navigate all three traffic circles on Central Boulevard and that, frankly, it was more efficient than driving on the dirt roads around the track.

That got her attention.

Serena lived in Palm Beach Gardens, and Jupiter and Palm Beach Gardens share a border. Suddenly, the polite celebrity-driver small talk turned into a conversation about South Florida.

I told her I’d just left radio in West Palm Beach, where I had been part of the Mo & Sally Morning Show.

She asked if I knew the KVJ Show.

Of course I did.

And just like that, we were talking about people and places we both knew.

It was actually a really cool conversation.

Everything was going great.

Right up until I almost killed Serena Williams.

You see, I hadn’t driven around downtown Austin in a long time.

And somewhere along the way, I made a small navigational error.

I turned the wrong way onto a one-way street.

Not a little wrong.

Really wrong.

There were FIVE LANES of oncoming traffic.

Five.

Suddenly, the energy inside that large black SUV changed.

The conversation stopped.

The people who had been happily chatting were now looking at me like they were reconsidering every decision that had led them into my vehicle.

I had to do the automotive equivalent of an Austin Powers three-point turn to get myself pointed in the right direction.

Eventually, I made it to the hotel.

I pulled up to the “right” side of the building, put the SUV in park and got out to open Serena’s door.

She stepped out.

She was looking down.

There was a scowl on her face.

I looked at her.

She looked at me.

And all I could come up with was:

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head with what I can only describe as sympathy…

…and walked into the hotel.

I got back in the SUV and sat there for a minute.

I almost killed Serena Williams.

What is wrong with me?

The funny thing is, I had spent the entire drive thinking, Wow. This is actually a pretty cool story.

And it was.

It just turns out the ending could have been very different.

To this day, I like to think Serena remembers me as the guy from South Florida who knew all the traffic circles on Central Boulevard.

Not the guy who briefly drove five lanes into oncoming traffic.

But honestly…

It could only happen to T.A.