Unemployment, Day 22: Storytime!

Today I'd like to take a slight detour from relating my escapades in unemployment. Yesterday Jennie asked me to tell her a story, so I did, and it was a pretty good story, and it was all true, so I thought I would share it with you today. It's in three parts. Here, then, is part I of the epic tale of how I failed my driving test but still got my driver's license.

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It was a cold day in February, 1999 that my parents and I ventured out to the Bureau of Motor Vehicles in search of vehicular independence from each other. No more would they have to take me everywhere I wanted to go, and no more would my mobility be limited by lack of a small plastic card with my name, address, and picture on it. I was going to get my driver's license. It would be a day long remembered.

I had been practicing for months, naturally. I'd been on the road many times with my parents, and a few times with an instructor. My final outing with the instructor lasted about fifteen minutes. The instructor decided to have me practice maneuverability first thing, and I did it perfectly in one try. It was a thing of beauty. He looked at me and asked if I wanted to do anything else, and I said no. I wanted to go home and watch cartoons. I didn't tell him that, but it was true. So that was the end of that lesson. I figured, given the ease with which I had completed the final practice of the maneuverability test, the actual exam would be a breeze.

I took the written test and missed one question, though what they were and what the correct answers were escape me now. I'm sure it was something trivial having to do with school zones or what to do when you accidentally get caught in a funeral procession. Having completed the written section, it was time to get behind the wheel. The car: a 1987 Cadillac, my dad's old car, and the largest car ever built at the time (this was in the halcyon days before the rise of the SUV). Or at least it felt like the largest car ever when you were driving it. There were no fewer than 27 blind spots, and as I slid into the driver's seat, I could feel them all glaring at me, laughing, daring me to forget about them, to make one false move.

The instructor buckled his safety belt and said, "Why don't you go ahead and pull out of this spot and go to the right. We're going to do maneuverability first." I smiled and nodded. Maneuverability was my bitch. It was time for me to take it from behind until it begged for mercy. I placed the car in drive and proceeded to pull out of the spot, and I got halfway out before the instructor yelled at me. I had gone to the left instead of the right. Oops.

Next: The Test!