Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Passing My Driver's Test

Figured I'd do an anecdotal entry.  Haven't done one of those in a while either.

I forget when I took the permit exam.  It wasn't too long after my 16th Birthday, but it wasn't immediately after either.  I basically walked in without studying and got the minimum score required to pass.  Go me.  I was hesitant to drive at first, unlike most teenagers who can't wait to jump behind the wheel, and then slowly realize that driving everywhere kind of sucks.  I knew early on the benefits of having chauffers.

I was a pretty good driver after the first few times during which I tended to start hitting the brakes too late and was too passive in pulling through/into intersections from stop signs.  (Should I'm going, maybe not, oh shit that guy is going to T-bone me and we're all going to die.)  But my parents were always pretty overprotective so I didn't get to take my driver's test until I was seventeen years, five months, and one day old.  (April 13th ftw.)

I was hoping a google image search would reveal that t-bone is another name for some horrific sex move.  Sadly, it is not.

It was kind of sweet because I actually got to miss the first four periods of school which if I'm remembering correctly were Contemporary Literature (awesome), Engineering Design and something that beings with a D (Often boring), Physics (Hell), and Participation in Government (either wildly entertaining or nap time, no grey area).

So my mom and I pulled up in my 1997 Chevrolet Lumina, a car my grandma had given me even before I had my permit.  She stepped out, the instructor stepped in and it was go time.  My instructor was a man in his 40s or 50s who had a bushy moustache and long slicked back hair.  He basically looked like meterosexual Saddam Hussein.  With a whiney lisp, he told me to pull away from the curb.

The parallel parking went as well as it could have.  I was never really good at it and ended up a foot too far away from the curb apparently.  I also got another deduction for not checking my mirror once while backing up about a foot.  Sue me.

Then we started driving around whatever small town we were in.  The guy was an obnoxious whiney bitch the entire time and literally criticized and micromanaged every little thing I did wrong, whether he could deduct for it or not.  I remember at one point I was making a left at a green light with traffic coming in the direction.  Oh goody, that was a question on the permit exam, so I checked everything, and creeped out into the intersection a little without pulling towards oncoming traffic, waiting for an opening.  The guy went ballistic, going on and on about how horrible I was and how I scared the shit out of "those people."  (No exaggeration here, he bitched for the next three or four turns in between telling me where to go.)

Eventually I got back to the starting point and he added up my score while complaining some more.  Turns out I did just well enough to pass the fucking exam.  Somewhat stupefied with relief, I then went to engage him in conversation, asking if the shoulder you look over when backing up is of any importance whatsoever.  (Due to playing baseball for years and taking thousands of glances at first base as a pitcher, I have way more flexibility looking around to the left than I do to the right).  I immediately regretted this decision as he recited a lispy answer that sounded like he was reading from a text book (with another textbook's dick in its ass).  I then kicked him out of my car and called George W. Bush on the guy.  Or something.

Then...WOOHOO I CAN DRIVE!!!  Now who wants to take me places and/or pay for my gas?

1 comment:

  1. You don't remember how I had to hound you to sign up to take your driver's test. You never mentioned that you wanted to take the test until I told you I was signing you up and what day did you want to take it.