Driver’s Licenses’

Why would a woman so hung up on concealing her age, be anxious to possess the very item that would clearly expose it?

Why would said woman stress over an object linked to gasoline purchases and car payments?

Why would a woman entering the prime of her life, and quite accustomed to the public transportation system, want to become victim to: irate drivers, rude pedestrians, long traffic lights, engines that don’t start, car jacking and where did I leave my keys?
In short – at this stage of the game, why would she want a driver’s license?

The Incentive

OK, so I didn’t wake up one morning saying “I think I’ll get my driver’s license today.”

On the contrary, I had accepted the fact that I was doomed to public transportation and for the rest of my life I would travel from point A to point B with a bus load of strangers. For the rest of my life I would charm my way into the passenger side of a car driven by “Harry I just need a ride.”
No, I didn’t wake up with an agenda but I did have a wake-up call.
It all started when my company announced they were changing locations.
Up until then my place of employment and my home address had the same zip code. On a good day I could actually walk to work.  Bye-bye convenience.

The Learner’s Permit

You must be at least 15 years of age.   Now that’s funny

Applicants must know their social security number. I should know it after all these years  – It starts with a zero, what does that tell you?

The applicant will be required to pass an eye and knowledge test. Eye test? Cataract surgery works wonders – Knowledge test?  No problem; where’s the manual?

When driving, there must be a licensed driver at least 21-years-old in the front seat with him or her at all times – Hello “Harry I just need a ride”

On my first attempt to take the test I arrived too late…duh.
On my second attempt, after pleading with the clerk to accept my expired documents, I was able to take the test, pass it with flying colors and strut out of the door with proof of my accomplishment well in hand.

RMV 

The road test should be a no-brainer ….NOT – but, why not?  I’ve seen mentally challenged people driving cars, how hard could it be?  I’ll schedule a few lessons with the local driving school; make arrangements to take the test and voila!  I’ll have my license.
Well, it looked good on paper but this is what actually happened.

It all began with a phone call to the RMV or should I say a recording from the RMV: “We are experiencing a high volume of calls.  Your call will be answered in the order that it was received.”  I must have been the ten thousandth caller, because I had enough time to wash my hair, do laundry and cook a five-course meal before I had a live person on the phone.  I must admit he was very pleasant.   Once I provided my learner’s permit number and credit card information I was given my very own confirmation number.
Hot dog!  Now I’m ready to rock and roll.

The Road Test

I remember waking up early that morning in a sort of dream state; perhaps it was a lack of sleep or the “Do it afraid” approach I knew I was about to take. My test was scheduled for 10:00am that Friday, that long weekend Friday – Hey! Why not? After I earn my license I’ll be able to rent a car and drive non-stop for days…. delusional.
After several trips to the window and nine cups of coffee later the driving school car finally arrived. Wait a second, hold your horses!!! (No pun intended.) They sent a different car, one I’ve never driven before; it looks brand new and why is someone sitting in the back seat?  And who is this strange man opening the door for me? Where’s my regular instructor? Where’s Frank? …This does not look good.

Sitting behind the wheel of a new car for the first time was intimidating but having two strangers riding in the same car with you was downright disturbing.
One of the strangers happened to be another license–seeking victim, a young kid partial to the word “Dude.” His arrogance should easily earn him a license.  Sour grapes! I wish I had half of his confidence.

Guess where I am?  Bingo! At the registry, or could this be the Supreme Court and I’m just sitting here waiting for a jury to decide if I’m guilty of a presidential assassination? There must be some similarities in the stress levels.
Just as I began my death-row walk, my bladder decided it was too full. Why now stupid bladder?  Didn’t I ask you if you needed to go before we left the house?  Suck it up. You’ll just have to hold it. … A psychological “Driving Miss Daisy” approach.

I slid into the driver’s seat like a pro, but started the engine like a true amateur. Keep in mind I’m as nervous as a virgin, and my bladder is full – I’d hate to go on record as failing my road test due to a salty flooding.

I should have had a V8

Coordination between the brain and body was totally misplaced and having the Gestapo perched by my side did not help the matter any. Ill at ease was an understatement.
“Pull out when it is safe to do so. Take your next left when it is safe to do so.”
When it is safe to do so?  I guess we’ll be here all day.
Once I gathered the courage to join the traffic I made my left turn without incident.  Now I’m driving in the middle of a two-way street. There is something wrong with this picture.  Should I be driving on the left, or right?  What the heck I’ll play it safe and stay in the middle.  As I made my way to the top of the street an opposing car was entering my space. Yes, my space.  I was there first.  To avoid collision, I turned my wheel to the left and continued driving about 50 feet leaving the front end of the car vulnerable to oncoming traffic.  The instructor yells out “Just keep going” I interpreted this to mean automatic failure.
In the remaining 13 minutes of my test I managed to Parallel Park 50 feet from the curb, cut off an oncoming car and almost kill a pedestrian.

IF  

If I had been driving a familiar car…If I had had my regular instructor…If that black cat hadn’t crossed my path.  Who’s kidding who? If a driver needs to question which side of the street they should be driving on they don’t deserve a license.  If a driver doesn’t know that a pedestrian has the right of way they don’t belong behind the wheel.
But, if a determined woman wants something bad enough she won’t let these minor stipulations interfere with her objective.  Is killing a pedestrian a minor stipulation?Perhaps it was a case of nerves that caused my brain cramp.  It’s bound to be less stressful the second time around.

Second time around

Why pay the driving school for the use of a car that I may or may not feel comfortable with?  I feel comfortable driving my best friend’s car; why not ask him to be my sponsor?

This time around my confidence level has risen to match that of a fixed horse race.
As I get into the front of the car my sponsor gets into the back.   The inspector is standing outside signaling me to roll down the window.
“Turn on your right blinker” Check! – “Turn on your left blinker” Check!
He now makes his way to the rear of the car. “Put your foot on the brake” Check!
I said “Put your foot on the brake” Check?  In the blink of an eye the inspector is standing next to my window with pen and clip board in hand.
Ma’am, your break lights are out – I’m sorry but I must reject this car”

Blessings 

I must reject this car, I must reject this car, the phrase kept playing in my head as I stepped on the gas and drove off like a champion speed car racer. I can’t remember when my sponsor joined me in the front seat but there we both sat side by side in complete silence.
When I finally made it home my sponsor asked me to remain behind the wheel so he could check out the brake lights. “Put your foot on the brake.” As I followed his instructions I could hear the sound of air being released. I quickly removed my foot from the brake and yelled out the window.  “Something is not right.” I tried the brake again and this time my foot went all the way to the floor with no resistance.  The brakes were completely gone.
Imagine if you will …

It’s the law

The following week I was back in the saddle again. The only thing stronger than my confidence was my eagerness.   I was so so ready.
My sponsor and I headed towards the car with the inspector trailing not far behind.
Once seated behind the wheel I was given the same set of instructions – left blinker, right blinkers, brake lights – check check, double check – everything was working fine.
“Roll down your window and show me your hand signals” says the inspector.
My responses were all correct. “Are you all set?” ask the inspector.  Pressing my back against the seat and gripping the wheel with both hands I said “yes.”
I must warn you ma’am your test begins the minute I get into the car… Duh.
“I asked you if you were all set and you said yes.” “Now look at your passenger in the back seat.”  I turn around and look at my sponsor.
What’s wrong is he obscuring my view? NO, he’s not wearing his seat belt. Sorry Ma’am it’s a state law… Automatic failure.

On the road again 

Yes, I’m determined to make this happen – I didn’t trust my sponsor’s car nor did I trust my non-seatbelt wearing sponsor. I decided to abandon my frugal ways and shell out more money to the driving school.   When I arrived at the registry I was still carrying my jitters with me, and to make matters worse I had the same fidget combatant instructor as before.  Since I was in the school’s vehicle there was no need for it to be examined; so, here I was in a car with two big strapping men and never once concerned about my makeup.  Makeup?  Yup, makeup… I forgot to mention the intimidating instructor was also tall, dark, very dark, and handsome.   “Pull out when it is safe to do so – Take your next left when it is safe to do so.”  At this point my nerves were so much on edge my teeth enamel was beginning to melt. The traffic light suddenly changed in favor of the incoming traffic I was expected to merge with…. “When it is safe to do so.” – Safe being the operative word. Cars were speeding past me as if someone had been instructed too. “Hey everybody, step on the gas! Don’t let that scary, indecisive, over-the hill rookie merge with us.” Finally,  I got a break from someone with a heart. A sweet little old lady…Did I say old?  Well, she was my age.  Hmmm, okay she was old. I slowly pulled out of the parking spot and eased my way into the traffic. So far so good; I appeared like a normal chick driving with a handsome guy sitting by her side.  Until!… the final straw.

The traffic was less than kind; it instinctively knew that I was trying to earn my right of passage…And, to make matters worse, there was a menacing car tailgating so close I thought I felt heat from its engine. I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and continued nervously on my way. The man in a car behind me blew his horn but I couldn’t understand why. “Just pull over there and stop,” the instructor said, pointing to a vacant spot big enough for three Mack trucks to park in.  “This isn’t good,” I thought to myself. I could feel another disappointment coming my way but before those infamous words could spring into action, I began to beg.  “Please, please. I’m just nervous…  I can do this. I know I can do this. Pleeeease just let me keep driving.”  Suddenly the car went silent. I believe the instructor’s heart was defrosting. “Ma’am I’m not trying to be difficult, but my job is to make sure you and the other drivers on the road will be safe.” “Sir I understand. I really do, but please. I’m begging you; give me one more shot at it.”

The instructor said nothing; he just motioned with his thick hand for me to continue. “Dear Lord, please show me your favor.” I believe I prayed it aloud. I can’t remember; but what I can remember is the humming. Yes… Humming. I took hold of the steering wheel and began to sing.  What I sang? …quite honestly, I don’t know, but whatever it was it quickly turned into a symphony of hums.  I suddenly became so cool I wanted to continue the test with a gangster lean.  The wordless tone that escaped my closed mouth and clenched jaw made me feel invincible.  I was no longer intimidated by the asphalt jungle …I had God power!
From that point on I could have instructed the instructor. Every inch I drove was perfect and every command was executed with precision: Parallel parking …check Three-point turn …check   Backing up ….check

It must have been a spiritual intervention, because I don’t remember any of it; the parking, the hand signals, the backing up, …. none of it. Finally, I was instructed to turn onto a familiar street; the street where the RMV reigns supreme. “Ha-ha,” I laugh at the sovereign State of Massachusetts, disguised as a human, disguised as an instructor who, by the way, turned out to be the big boss. Yes, he had the authority to give me a second chance …BUT I answer to a much higher authority.

As I reflect on the drama surrounding the events of my zealous goal; I know, that I know, it was God who got me safely home when the car brakes were not working. It was God who assigned a manager to keep giving me my road test. It was God who brought me to a place of humility, and it is God who blessed me with the ability to write and share my personal story with you. BTW: I did get my license and I know which side of the street I should be driving on.

That was God too.