The Driving Lesson

Last Edit September 23, 1999

He's 18. And big. 6'3" about. 230lbs.
Not buff but not bad.
The Toyota van is old. '87. Refurbished.
Tight turning radius.
He's flunked his written test twice. Dyslexic.
We are working on it.
Meantime, we are cruising the Sears mall in Newark in the early morning hours.
Before other drivers are present.
This requires that I get up early. Very early.
Coffee - one decaf. No breakfast.
And take him over.
He backs out the car.
Rolls it down the driveway incline.
Decides, that since I am in the street, he will merrily drive the car around the corner.
And leave part of the tire on the curb.
Ooops.
It's that tight turning thing.
This is only his second time behind the wheel.
I hit a garage.
It was moving.
Really.
I get us to the mall. He hates it when I point out errors and give advise.
I try to be silent.
He is in a rare mood.
Probably because he was hired by RT to take photos of the convention in Toronto and I bought him the camera to do it with.
(Little did I know it was because he had a hidden agenda.)
I am stressed. My pink dress is not done. I am not packed. 3AM comes too soon.
He takes the wheel.
He adjusts the mirrors.
The seat.
The steering wheel. (yep. One of those.)
After a few stalls, we pull the carpet out of the driver's well. He has big feet - compared to the scale of the car.
The window, which never goes all the way into the door (never did), is in his way so no U turn.
He finds the vibrations annoying.
I tell him to take the emergency brake off.
OF course, as tired as I am, I hadn't noticed it right away.
He spins, and spins again. 1st, 2nd gear. 20MPH.
He uses turn signals.
Sometimes.
He smoothes down his shifting.
But he turns too tight, too often. The van does it in 13 feet. 2-lane U-turns.
We have to pause for five minutes.
So I don't barf.
He made me carsick! Seriously!
Too many G-forces.
I also insist that he stop chasing the seagulls.
Stay in the lane.
Use turn signals.
Avoid any real drivers.
Stay off the streets.
This time, on starting up, he blares the radio.
His choice of music.
Ick.
He plays with cruise control (not fast enough).
The DJ is discussing how he's had 8 operations on his crotch.
Oh yes, I needed to know that!
I chew gum.
He practices.
I write.
He slams the gears up and down. (Reserved for first and second.)
I ask him to back up.
He revved it. 20 MPH.
I squawked.
He parked.
He told me not to distract the driver.
Ho ho. Famous words.
He says he's heard them for years.
That's true.
He pauses. Changes channels.
Reverses the van. Better.
He still stalls often.
HE is trying a private street to a less busy lot.
And still chasing the seagulls.
I warn him about rolling the van - too tight a turn or an S-turn series will roll it right over.
He practices some more.
He screams the tires.
He complains when I shriek. I see $$$$.
I will pay for what I want and what I plan to buy.
I don't like paying for things I don't plan - especially when I didn't cause the damage.
We try a small, very small hill.
He has a problem. Of course. Everyone does with a stick shift.
It's his first time.
Six stalls.
He gets it, roughly.
I explain about emergency brakes - how to hold the car.
He takes off with the brake on.
Downhill is a mess too.
We make it around the drive to the movie theater.
I am still car sick.
I also need to explain about the starter. When the car is running it is not good to start it. It objects.
He practices reverse and stopping at a stop sign.
I am forced into the door. Sideways.
I decide I've had enough when he squeals the tires too much.
My head hurts.
The day has just begun.