License to Drive
We chowhounded pizza last night, and I am sorry to say that New York has officially kicked the pizza ass of LA.
As everyone knows, fifteen years late, I FINALLY became a licensed driver yesterday.
I failed my first test last week, which prompted a complete nervous breakdown. Never have I felt such pressure, or put such pressure on myself. I think this was probably the low point of my move to LA. So much seemed to ride on the damn test: my ability to get a job, my ability to not depend on Derek as my chauffer, etc.
My Mom arrived in town that evening, and proceeded to completely distract me, and we had a lovely time together, until the last two days, when I thought we might kill each other. ah, the mother-daughter bond.
So yesterday, I arrive in Pasadena for my second driving test. Please note that last week I was informed that my failure was due to my lack of caution, which culminated in my making an unsafe turn resulting in "intervention by the instructor" - automatic failure. So this time, I am determined to be SUPER cautious. Derek's mantra: "they can't fail you for being too cautious." OK. So during the test, I drive five miles under the speed limit at all times. I stop to let teenagers cross the road, to let little old ladies hobble across the street, when making turns I wait until there are no cars over the horizon. I wait and wait, until the tester says: "JUST TURN!!!!" I think to myself: was that an automatic failure? But I keep driving anyway.
When we return to the DMV, we sit in the car in the oven like California sun while the tester gives me a twenty minute lecture about how, in order to drive safely, one needs to be "quick and decisive" and that this is a safety issue. One must not block traffic. One must not be "too nice" and one must always take the right of way. There were several times, she said, that I could have turned and I didn't. So I'm sitting with the lump welling up in my throat thinking about how I have to tell Derek that I failed AGAIN. And thinking, my God, there must be some mysterious middle-ground between cautious and quick that I have to find to pass the test. How the hell am I going to do that? I'm thinking, I will never again set foot in Pasadena. I'm thinking, all right lady, I failed, please let me out of the goddamn car. "So, can you work on that?" she says. "Can you work on that." "Um, sure," I say. "All right, I'll let it go this time. Go to window 24. Go!"
I stumble out of the car, up to Derek.
"Did you pass?" he asks.
"I have no idea." Together, we look at the form. Fifteen errors exactly, just scraping the limit. But she's checked the box for pass. So we run back into the DMV to sign the papers before she changes her mind.
As everyone knows, fifteen years late, I FINALLY became a licensed driver yesterday.
I failed my first test last week, which prompted a complete nervous breakdown. Never have I felt such pressure, or put such pressure on myself. I think this was probably the low point of my move to LA. So much seemed to ride on the damn test: my ability to get a job, my ability to not depend on Derek as my chauffer, etc.
My Mom arrived in town that evening, and proceeded to completely distract me, and we had a lovely time together, until the last two days, when I thought we might kill each other. ah, the mother-daughter bond.
So yesterday, I arrive in Pasadena for my second driving test. Please note that last week I was informed that my failure was due to my lack of caution, which culminated in my making an unsafe turn resulting in "intervention by the instructor" - automatic failure. So this time, I am determined to be SUPER cautious. Derek's mantra: "they can't fail you for being too cautious." OK. So during the test, I drive five miles under the speed limit at all times. I stop to let teenagers cross the road, to let little old ladies hobble across the street, when making turns I wait until there are no cars over the horizon. I wait and wait, until the tester says: "JUST TURN!!!!" I think to myself: was that an automatic failure? But I keep driving anyway.
When we return to the DMV, we sit in the car in the oven like California sun while the tester gives me a twenty minute lecture about how, in order to drive safely, one needs to be "quick and decisive" and that this is a safety issue. One must not block traffic. One must not be "too nice" and one must always take the right of way. There were several times, she said, that I could have turned and I didn't. So I'm sitting with the lump welling up in my throat thinking about how I have to tell Derek that I failed AGAIN. And thinking, my God, there must be some mysterious middle-ground between cautious and quick that I have to find to pass the test. How the hell am I going to do that? I'm thinking, I will never again set foot in Pasadena. I'm thinking, all right lady, I failed, please let me out of the goddamn car. "So, can you work on that?" she says. "Can you work on that." "Um, sure," I say. "All right, I'll let it go this time. Go to window 24. Go!"
I stumble out of the car, up to Derek.
"Did you pass?" he asks.
"I have no idea." Together, we look at the form. Fifteen errors exactly, just scraping the limit. But she's checked the box for pass. So we run back into the DMV to sign the papers before she changes her mind.
posted by Melissa at 11:41 AM
2 Comments:
Super big congratulations, my dear. I can't believe it. It feels like just yesterday I was driving your college-aged ass around SF in the Mazda van....
New York has officially kicked the pizza ass of Austin too. Why these people can't make a simple crust is beyond me.
Post a Comment
<< Home