Writing this week’s column alone takes a gulp of courage — let’s go with “swig.” A swig of courage. That sounds cooler.
I have a confession in the form of a story: I just got my driver’s license a little more than a month ago. That’s right. At 21, baby. Admitting to this in print took almost as much nerve as it did for me to get behind the wheel. I don’t know if you guys realize this, but driving can occasionally be heart-trying-to-escape-your-body terrifying.
Even practice required courage, as each parent was a challenge in their own way. My mom didn’t appreciate the game of chicken I had going with our neighborhood’s senior citizens and would get all high-pitched about it. My dad was calmer, but he also got bored easily and wanted to get to places quickly. Occasionally, “speed” placed higher on his priorities than “legal.” So my instructions were a cocktail of “very cautious” and “as long as no police are around.”
All too soon, it came time for my driving test. I was set to grab a friend of mine for coffee right after, and I had visions of waving my license around in self-satisfaction that would border, if not live directly on, smug. But this was not to be. Apparently, DMV testers have a problem with speed. Also it turns out that curbs are not acceptable access routes. I failed.
I scrambled to schedule a second test a mere two days before I was set to drive six hours back to Malibu. Desperate times were nigh and the stakes were high. And rhymes alone would not get me by.
So of course, day of, my mom had ingested too much caffeine and was bouncing off her seat with nervous energy. We also had a ridiculous amount of trouble finding the office in a strange town 90 minutes away. Barely making our appointment, I made two mistakes before we pulled in, which vacuumed up any shred of confidence I had left.
Disconcertingly fast for the DMV, I was paired with my tester and began walking toward my car, each step heavy with dread. Things got off to an embarrassing start when I tried to start the car without gunning the engine. I realized my mistake and said, “That was a joke,” to which my tester did not laugh. Or breathe, even. The man was stone.
Fifteen achingly slow minutes later, I was told that I passed and did “very well.” Take that, instructor from a week ago! I was officially licensed.
After about 10 minutes of luxuriating in relief and pride, God decided I was getting annoying. So when backing out of the parking space directly in front of the DMV’s large, glass window, I backed up onto the curb. I then proceeded to accidentally rev the engine.
While in park, atop the curb, a loud splutter and at least five neck turns my way had me exclaiming, “We have to leave before they take it back!” I righted the car and got us on our way in such a blur of efficient speed that I nearly ran over a passerby before driving off into the sunset.
This week, share your own embarrassing horror story, laugh at yourself and invite others to join in. I dare you.
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