Unemployment, Day 24: Storytime! the third

It was with a heavy sigh that I undertook the maneuverability challenge that lie behind me. I backed up cautiously, cutting the wheel as I did, attempting to maneuver the tail end of the Cadillac into the space between the two cones behind me. At the last moment, I realized that I had cut the wheel too hard. I stopped. "That's one," the instructor said, marking something on his clipboard, still refusing to look up. I pulled the car forward and reset in the starting position. "That's two," he said again. What? I exclaimed in thought. You can't count that as two stops! That was only one stop and then one reset, which doesn't count as anything! Jackass. From that moment on, I hated the examiner, and I vowed to make this the most unpleasant experience that he had ever had in his life. And I would do that, just as soon as I finished the maneuverability portion of the exam.

Slowly, deliberately, I backed the car up again, cutting the wheel just as I had done before - too far. This time, however, I didn't realize it until it was too late. In a flash, I remembered that I had a rear view mirror, and I looked into it just in time to see the tail end of the car strike one of the cones and knock it to the ground. I stopped.

That was it. I was dead. A downed cone was the end of the game. You knock a cone over, you fail automatically. I looked at the examiner and waited for him to say something.

"That's three," was all he said, and he marked something on his clipboard and did not look up.

He hadn't noticed! Now I was stuck. There was no way I could get out of this without failing. As soon as I finished the course he would notice that the cone was down and he would fail me. Nevertheless, I pulled forward again and stopped. "Four," he said.

My mind raced. I looked in my side mirror and saw the cone lying there on the ground, so lifeless, so still, yet accusatory, as if it had been betrayed by me and my inability to maneuver. It was then that I saw him.

I don't know who he was. I don't know where he came from. All I know is what I saw. And what I saw was an African-American man in his 30s wearing a stocking cap and a heavy coat walk up behind the car, pick up the cone that I had knocked down, set it back where it was supposed to be, smile at me, and walk away.

All of this, of course, was lost on the examiner. He hadn't seen me knock over the cone, and he certainly hadn't seen the stranger replace the cone. And there was no way in hell that I was going to tell him.

Backing up a third time, I finally remembered to use my mirrors, to cut the wheel the appropriate amount, and to not hit any of the cones or stop along the way. I finished the maneuverability test with a score of 80 points, and I went on to complete the road test with a score of 90 points. I received my driver's license that day, and said goodbye the days of bumming rides from my parents.

After completing the maneuverability test, I looked around the parking lot to see if I could find the stranger who had picked up my cone, but he was nowhere to be found. Over the years, I have begun to doubt the truth of my story. Had it actually happened, or had I simply imagined the whole thing, having been delirious with anxiety over the test? Perhaps the stranger was a guardian angel, stepping in at my time of greatest need, or perhaps he was a homeless man who decided to help out a kid who couldn't drive very well. I have no evidence to prove the facts of my story, nor do I believe I ever will have any such evidence. I leave all judgments regarding the story to you.