Confessions of a Dumb Driver

My Many Excursions at the DMV

As a wide-eyed immigrant to the U. S. of A., my pursuit of life, liberty and happiness began at the Department of Motor Vehicles. I spent many an excursion there--- four, to be exact.

The first road test, I thought it strange that the car was convulsing every few feet. After four convulsions, the examiner, realizing I’ll never figure out that the hand brake was on, wrote “Failed” on his clipboard and sent me on my way.

The second time, I ended up on the other lane as I backed up.

The third time, I still ended up on the other lane as I backed up.

The lady examiner, who remembered me from my previous attempt, divulged to my husband that there was something not right with my brain. (I have some trouble with spatial relations and abstract reasoning, it's true). She suggested a few more months of brain conditioning should do the trick.

The fourth time, as I got in the car, I pleaded with the examiner (a different, more compassionate one, this time), for leniency. The guy was probably touched by my sincerity, and let me pass though I hit the curb and gave us both a mighty jolt. Sincerity goes a long way, I'm telling you.

Amen, thank you, Jesus!, ...I'm well on my way to the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness-- only after four attempts!

Initiation on Interstate-95

Nothing could make me drive solo on I-95, not even my husband (stuck on some sidewalk, twenty miles away) who couldn't get home since I had the car. It took me two hours to muster the courage to make my solo venture into the formidable and unknown frontier of state roads and the I's (I-95 & I-595). No sooner than my engine could hum, I missed my exit. I wound up in the parking lot of a supermarket in some unknown (to me) place with my toddler in tow and a carload of clothes and miscellany, contemplating whether to call the highway patrol or 911. “Uh, operator, could you please tell me how to get home? “

No, I didn’t call the highway patrol or 911. The fact that I did get home that day was a sheer act of courage and will. Seriously.

The Bells and Whistles of Driving

Where I live, drivers are honk- happy. I’m beginning to believe that some of these individuals have a honk reflex. A glare or a head shake normally completes the routine. In contrast to this so-called honk reflex, I’m of the kind of the five-second delay. A car could be swerving to my lane, or the light had long been green a car ahead, and I’m still a-thumping at everything else on my steering wheel except the horn. After 4 or so years with the same car, my horn and I are still not quite familiar.

Sudden downpours send me on a frantic fumble to turn on the windshield wiper, as I coast by at fifty mph with zero visibility. Forward or backward? Two clicks, or three?

And what about the neon blue light on my dashboard? How do I make it go away? Push here-nope. Click there, nope. Push everywhere. This called for the usual phone call to the husband, who tried, unsuccessfully, to help me. For someone, like me, with an innate disability, verbal instructions are worse than a course in anatomy.

This, That and the Other

I once left my back side open when I unloaded my SUV and drove I-595 with a flapping door. The mystery of the whoosh and the thump thump was solved quite belatedly, ten minutes into the drive. Isn't it amazing that nobody warned me?

The answer to that is plain to see ---"To each, his own, my dear. To each, his own."

Ever since I consecutively rear-ended someone's steel grill bumper and a dumpster, I’ve been wary about backing out of a parking space. I’d rather arm-wrestle the steering wheel 360 degrees than back more than one meter out of my space.

I was supposed to make a U turn to the doctor’s office on the other side of the street and ended, instead, on the Turnpike, on my way to Disney.

Another time I reassured my horrified passenger not to worry as my venture into the opposite lane was a freak incident and deftly deflected ourselves from the oncoming traffic.

Close Encounters of the Toll Kind

 
To spur me on my bid for independence my spouse bought a navigator. On my way to the local pool or public library five miles away , my Garmin navigator takes me on convoluted highway routes that almost always ends up at a toll. (I suspect that the Turnpike management struck a business deal with Garmin to make money out of directionally challenged individuals like me).

There is something about toll stops that unnerves me. On one of those round-about routes I told you about, I encountered a toll stop with those funnel shaped contraptions. I threw in a dollar bill. No response. My moment of insight came five seconds late.

There, I left the bill as a testimony of sorts , a conversational trigger on the bloopers of life.

I always end up unprepared for tolls. At one time, too nervous to count, I fed the funnel with all the pennies I could forage in the car. The toll was a dollar (one hundred pennies!) Could you imagine if I sat there and counted them all? I would have been run over or honked to death.

Dilemma at the Gas Pump

I’d rather drive on an empty tank than gas up. Or switch my car with the other one (that has gas). My initial supervised stint at the pump ended in a trip home and a change of clothes, you see.

When I decided to gas ‘er up, I had a “do-it-yourself moment”, an experience in trial and error. After sneakily observing other customers, pulling all the levers, puzzled for minutes, why mine won't work, I concluded that the pump was out-of-order and told the clerk at the station to fix it. “The whole business of gassing up was making me late!”

Still No Tickets for Me

One night I unknowingly drove with just the parking lights on. I thought it quite strange that the streets were so dark, as I strained my vision, driving mostly by the light of the car behind me. The fact that I passed a road block with cops on the scene without being cited reinforced my belief that folks could get by the skin of their teeth.

All the driving skirmishes of my past have emboldened me presently, and if ever, on a U-turn I end up in Timbuktu, my navigator will find me a route home (dotted with tolls all along the way).