“I am an amazing driver, I can do this, three more driving lessons and I’ll be a licensed woman,” I pumped myself up pre-driving hour.
Unfortunately, my instructor did not share the same optimism I did.
“You do that and it will be an AUTOMATIC FAIL” she said, referring to my driving test which was 11 days away, as I made a turn too fast. She seemed to take great enjoyment out of saying these words. I imagined her gloating at the fact she had the power to instill fear in teenagers.
She also had an annoying habit of grabbing the steering wheel while I was trying to practice parallel parking, like I needed that kind of assistance. I was tempted to claw her paws off the steering wheel on numerous occasions. “Who’s driving here?” I wanted to ask. When she wasn’t grabbing the wheel she was pressing her brake. I would approach a stop sign, and maybe out of fear I wouldn’t stop, she enthusiastically hit her brake. And when she wasn’t grabbing the wheel or hitting her brake, she was saying “AUTOMATIC FAIL.”
She kept repeating it like a sacred chant, giving me horrific images. Me, a university student getting driven to a party by my parents. Then later, me, a young woman getting driven by my kids to their sporting events because their mommy was still licenseless. “Good luck at your baseball game honey,” I’d say to my kid from the backseat as they parked the car. “I’ll just wait until your done playing so you can drive me home again.”
She knew the power those two words held. It was more than just passing or failing a test, it was visions of me in the back seat for the rest of my life, forever the chaperoned and never the chaperon.
One of the reasons I’m 18 and still don’t have my license is because I forget which one is the gas pedal and which ones the brake. I guess this would be classified in the category of a fatal and stupid mistake. I’m a university student with the memory of a goldfish. I’ve often wondered about inventing some sort of labeling system to put on the dashboard. “GAS=RIGHT SIDE, BRAKE=LEFT SIDE” it would say. This may be why my driving instructor once said to me “you’ll be lucky if you get your license before 2020.”
I’ve never been the best driver. I accidently drove my father’s pride and joy, his 2002 Chevy Impala into the ditch while out practicing. It’s once sleek blue paint was covered in an ugly coat of mud, and Dad was not impressed. I was out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s seat within a couple of seconds. He was making unintelligible grunts which I took to mean “get out now.” The drive home was extremely awkward.
When we arrived, my twin brother who happened to already have his license was instantly curious about the situation. “What’s with all the mud on the car man?” he asked me in this “I have my license and you don’t which makes me required to investigate the cleanliness of the car” kind of voice. Also take note that he referred to me as a man.
I blushed a shade of red that automatically left me looking guilty, and eventually he discovered what happened. I can tell you it’s quite demeaning to have your brother, who is but five minutes older than you, shake his head and make tsk tsk noises at you because you failed to keep the family car on the road.
Since then, I’ve been more of a cautious driver, but not necessarily better. Its seven days before my driving test and I’m still questioning if the brake is for sure on the left side. The gas I’ve decided, is not that important. As long as I remember where the brake is I can make sure the car goes at a speed low enough so the driver examiner and I both make it out of the test alive. Passing? That’s no longer the main goal.
Unfortunately, my instructor did not share the same optimism I did.
“You do that and it will be an AUTOMATIC FAIL” she said, referring to my driving test which was 11 days away, as I made a turn too fast. She seemed to take great enjoyment out of saying these words. I imagined her gloating at the fact she had the power to instill fear in teenagers.
She also had an annoying habit of grabbing the steering wheel while I was trying to practice parallel parking, like I needed that kind of assistance. I was tempted to claw her paws off the steering wheel on numerous occasions. “Who’s driving here?” I wanted to ask. When she wasn’t grabbing the wheel she was pressing her brake. I would approach a stop sign, and maybe out of fear I wouldn’t stop, she enthusiastically hit her brake. And when she wasn’t grabbing the wheel or hitting her brake, she was saying “AUTOMATIC FAIL.”
She kept repeating it like a sacred chant, giving me horrific images. Me, a university student getting driven to a party by my parents. Then later, me, a young woman getting driven by my kids to their sporting events because their mommy was still licenseless. “Good luck at your baseball game honey,” I’d say to my kid from the backseat as they parked the car. “I’ll just wait until your done playing so you can drive me home again.”
She knew the power those two words held. It was more than just passing or failing a test, it was visions of me in the back seat for the rest of my life, forever the chaperoned and never the chaperon.
One of the reasons I’m 18 and still don’t have my license is because I forget which one is the gas pedal and which ones the brake. I guess this would be classified in the category of a fatal and stupid mistake. I’m a university student with the memory of a goldfish. I’ve often wondered about inventing some sort of labeling system to put on the dashboard. “GAS=RIGHT SIDE, BRAKE=LEFT SIDE” it would say. This may be why my driving instructor once said to me “you’ll be lucky if you get your license before 2020.”
I’ve never been the best driver. I accidently drove my father’s pride and joy, his 2002 Chevy Impala into the ditch while out practicing. It’s once sleek blue paint was covered in an ugly coat of mud, and Dad was not impressed. I was out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s seat within a couple of seconds. He was making unintelligible grunts which I took to mean “get out now.” The drive home was extremely awkward.
When we arrived, my twin brother who happened to already have his license was instantly curious about the situation. “What’s with all the mud on the car man?” he asked me in this “I have my license and you don’t which makes me required to investigate the cleanliness of the car” kind of voice. Also take note that he referred to me as a man.
I blushed a shade of red that automatically left me looking guilty, and eventually he discovered what happened. I can tell you it’s quite demeaning to have your brother, who is but five minutes older than you, shake his head and make tsk tsk noises at you because you failed to keep the family car on the road.
Since then, I’ve been more of a cautious driver, but not necessarily better. Its seven days before my driving test and I’m still questioning if the brake is for sure on the left side. The gas I’ve decided, is not that important. As long as I remember where the brake is I can make sure the car goes at a speed low enough so the driver examiner and I both make it out of the test alive. Passing? That’s no longer the main goal.