Panthera Sapiens: Passed by Speeding

I just passed my driving test. It seems incredible that I could’ve passed, and I have sneaking suspicions that my instructor has been passing money around behind my back to get me through the exams; but since he hasn’t confessed, and I haven’t any idea how to prove it (if it’s true), I’ll just live with it. In any case, the examiner said I can drive pretty well when I’m not busy trembling in fear. (What he thinks about my braking the car, you will see.)

The Section Two was easy enough: going up and down a man-made mountain, side-parking, the triangle maneuver (although the mountain was scary, and I did backslide once—but they allow each candidate two tries before failing them), all were completed in a little less than three minutes.

Section Three was my bane: the on-road section! I memorized the map (they were kind enough to tack up a map of the route to take) and then mentally went over my routine. I find it helps if I think of this the way I think of piano exams: go in, smile, say hello, and go through your paces, smile, say goodbye, and wait for stunning grades to come out. Well, my routine went straight down the drain on this one.

The examiner was (according to my instructor) the nicest, most communicative one available today, so I was supposed to be merrily whistling away while I drove. Well, he certainly was communicative: I got into the car, and the first thing he said was “GO!!!” I was about to go through the check-the-car bit: wipers, washers, gears, clutch, mirror—but I barely touched the mirror (the first one I wanted to adjust: my height means that the mirror is invariably adjusted too low) before he roared, “GO!!! I SAID GO!!!” I wanted to get my seatbelt on, too, but I didn’t want him to blow up before I even got out of the school, so I didn’t.

Everywhere I was about to stop, he yelled at me to go. And he refused to let me use the clutch to slow down (maybe it malfunctioned or something, I don’t know) while screaming for the brake, the brake, THE BRAKE!!! And then when I was about to go, he started yelling that it was a junction, a roundabout, a road, whatever, didn’t I know how to stop the car? Use the brake, the brake, THE BRAKE!!! Fortunately he didn’t blow a vessel, and he didn’t see fit to stomp on his brake or grab my steering wheel to correct my course (which, in his opinion, was always 180 degrees off-course).

And then he went into a litany of how “my people” (he was a Boom) always looked down on “his”, and how “we” paid no more than face value to the government (which he worked for) and basically, how evil “we” were and should be banned from the roads. I was glad (comparatively!) when I missed an opportunity to brake and got him on to the brakes, the brakes, THE BRAKES!!! again.

Well, of course I didn’t drive particularly well either. I’m used to using the clutch on a constant basis, and driving without using it at all took me a lot of getting used to. And then, when I’m not comfortable, I start driving slowly. (This usually causes a chain reaction where the car slows, the instructor/examiner shouts for it to go faster, I get more uncomfortable, and the car slows yet more.) Well, at least this time the examiner noticed the chain reaction and started speaking a little more gently, and stopped speaking altogether when I got the speedometer up to 50. Of course, the next time he shouted for THE BRAKES!!! again, it took a rather long time before the speedometer went back to 35. I’m a very nervous driver.

All in all, I would’ve failed myself on the exam, if what I saw of my own driving could be any indicator. Maybe I’m too hard on myself, but I believe 8 hours of lessons is hardly enough to equip anybody to drive. One third of a day to learn lifelong skills! Quite preposterous, is it not? Even learning the alphabet takes longer: just ask any toddler. Equally important, but the difference of priority given! If I had the right I’d make driving a week-long course, and examiners wouldn’t be allowed to speak to the candidates during the exam, except to give useful advice, and they’d be fitted with something to make them speak more softly and nicely.

At least he did pass me (since he had forbidden me to do preliminary check-ups, he couldn’t fault me for those), so I’ll be getting my license tomorrow: and the world’s population of crazy drivers will increase by one. If you live nearby, you’ll be able to recognize my car from a distance: it’ll be the one crawling on the slow lane at around 35 (if I’m in a bad mood) or 65 maximum (if I’m in a good mood), with a string of cars behind, honking loud enough to be heard in Zimbabwe. (The string will probably also stretch to there.)

Somebody I know told me that all cars with big P stickers (Probation drivers—those who’ve only just begun driving legally) should be avoided like the plague. Those with faded stickers (meaning they’re more experienced) can be approached: those with big, shiny, brilliant red stickers, well… red means stop, you know. As in Stop Where You Are And Don’t You Dare Come Near Me Because I Could Run You Over At Any Moment. And that’s the kind of red that’s going onto my mother’s car tomorrow. Beware! A new speed demon is born!

[Edit: I got my certificate yesterday, and the examiner had the cheek to mark me as having forgotten to check the rear view mirror. I also drove my sister back from school today, with my mother tagging along, and both of them agree that I am the worst driver they know. I would also like to say that I meant for this post to be full of thanks to God, who probably is the main reason that I passed and haven’t got into any accidents yet, but somehow the post simply went off-topic. Anyway, if you don’t like how I drive, complain to God. He’s the One who got me my license. /edit]