After putting some instant noodles in my system, I think I spent the next 3 hours or so . . . ya know, I actually can't really recall what I did. I'm pretty sure it involved N64, watching old Survivor tapes (
can't get enough!), and reading all my driving books and stuff. Of course, time only goes so slowly, and 3 o'clock came soon enough . . . . . okay, I know I worded that weird, but you get what I'm saying, right?
Dan came up to where I was (trying to find the stuff on 4-way stops) and got me up and out of the house. I got to drive, of course. So yeah, I put on the "L", drove to the driving place, yada yada yada, I made it without too much fuss. Next to the building were several stalls that were marked for road test people. I took one (obviously). Dan got out of the car, and I grabbed all the papers in the back I
thought I would need. I mean, my driving teachers and all had really stressed we REALLY needed the 30 hrs of experience logged, or we wouldn't get to take the test (no exceptions!). So I got all that, got out, locked the car doors, and the two of us headed for the door (and I know I didn't put on the club, I just figured I really didn't have to at this moment).
I looked at my watch a lot during this time. It said it was 3:20, which was good. But anyway, as we hit the door, couple of people came out. One was a young guy that looked about my age, the other was this somewhat-wide lady with a clipboard.
"Ern," Dan says, "let's watch these guys. You can see what you'll have to do." It made enough sense, so we stuck around outside the building to scout how this was done. The guy got into a brown car parked in the same line of stalls we were in. He started the engine, and rolled down his window(?). Well, I wasn't puzzled for long, as I then heard her give him instructions through the open window. I saw the woman walk over to the car's left turn signal, which came on right afterwards. She then moved over to the right one (I couldn't see the light from my angle, but come on, what else would she be doing?). Then she backed up, and the guy honked the horn. That horn got Dan thinking that was a good reason to laugh. I just looked at him funny.
Well, we saw that little brown car go out the exit Dan foresaw I'd use, and that was that. I had to go in and face these bastards for myself. Great.
On the plus side, there were no lines at the front desk, and I took my place in it (
ooh, now there's a line!). I checked in, and was then told to take a seat. By now it was about 3:25. When I turned around, Dan was looking through a driving guide for motorcycles he picked up off the wall. I guess it wasn't so much that he was planning on getting a bike any time soon as much as it was that he had never looked through one before. Well, it was interesting enough, because I started checking it out over his shoulder.
The secretary at the desk then called to me that I was really early (so I guess five minutes it early for her?). She then told me my test was booked for 3:45.
Oops.
Oh well, the way I see it, it'll give me some time to look over my driving stuff again. Actually, on retrospect, me looking over all that stuff was really just my busy-work to keep me entertained while I sat in that molded, plastic chair. By now it was about 2:30. Another man walked into the driving place not too long afterwards, carrying a black helmet under his arm. I nudged Dan,
"Hey, check it out. Biker." He looked up, and cracked a smile. I could see why; the guy did not look like a biker. He was this slim guy with a moustache and glasses, wearing this shirt with green vertical stripes. He looked more like one of the driving examiners if anything! Of course, that wasn't the case, as he went up to the desk and checked in for his final exam, which went through instantly (I guess he had a 2:30 . . .). His examiner came out. Now . . . SHE was fat!
I guess I should explain why I keep bringing these things up: all my friends were telling me, "don't get the fat one."
Thanks guys, that helped; they ALL are! Actually, I don't think that would matter anyway - I went to a different driving place than them. Go fig. Aaaanyways, "biker-boy" went out the door, followed shortly by "girth-girl". The guy got on his . . . scooter, and they did their thing.
Told ya he wasn't a biker! It's 3:35 at this point.
One of the guys calls over the desk,
"Excuse me, Ernest?" I answer. "We can go anytime now. Are you ready?" I just half-smiled and broke into my "pessi-casm" (pessimistic-sarcasm), and said,
"No, but I'll do it anyway." He then told me that we'd be going then. He grabbed his clipboard, (that damn clipboard,) and came around the corner. He had a gut over his belt. Great. I got up, holding all my papers still. "Oh," I bring up; "do you want my experience log?"
"Um . . . don't worry about it." He goes. That was kind of interesting, I thought. So we went out to the parking lot - my destiny (come on, I'm tense; ya gotta let me get cheesy here). I look back to Dan; his eyes say it all (and his grin threw in the punctuation).
Upon reaching the blue Nissan 240SX that I'd be using, the examiner looked in, looked at me, and asked,
"You're doing this on standard?"
"Yeah." He then kind of shrugged his shoulders and told me to get in, start the engine, and open the window. I acknowledged, knowing full well what was going to happen next. So yes, signal left, signal right, beep the horn (it was actually the first time I ever did that with this car; It was neat), and we were set. He got in.
"Okay Ernest," he begins, "I will be your examiner today."
well, duh . . . "Just drive normally, turn when I ask you to turn, if I don't ask you to turn . . ."
"Then go straight?" I cut in. His expression reminded me that not all roads are straight. I quickly rebutted myself, "I mean, not straight, but I mean . . ."
"Follow the curvature or the road."
"That's it."
I hate this already . . .
"Okay," he starts again, "I'm just going to tell you now, I'm not going to try to trick you, or put you in any dangerous situations."
"Okay."
"Okay. Let's go. Will you please go through the exit over there?"
"Okay." Yeah, it was the same exit we figured. The test had officially begun. Crap.
We went out exactly the way Dan and I had figured - so far so good. I was checking all my blind spots, I was breaking early, and I was kicking ass. For the most part, at least. I mean, it's still really uncomfortable, because that guy next to you just seems to radiate coldness, ya know? I really hated that. I'll tell you what I hated even more; my first all-way stop. Actually, I was lucky; there wasn't anyone else around. Lucky me.
"At the next corner," the examiner tells me, "I want you to turn left." I signaled, stopped (oncoming traffic), it was clear, I shoulder-checked, and went. Perfect execution. Well, almost, at least. Soon thereafter, we came upon another all-way stop. There was traffic this time.
Basically I just told myself, "you know this stuff, just follow your instincts." Well, the other car moved through the intersection, it looked like it was my turn, and I'm pretty sure I was right. Actually, I AM sure I was right! One snag, though; I went just a little too soon . . .
"What are you doing?!" the guy exclaims, "that car was still in the middle of the road!" He then opened up the little clipboard and checked something down. Damn.
Ladies and gentlemen, my first demerit . . .
So we went on a little more, I am being SO much more careful now around those (but really there was only about two or three more of them). We went down a hill and up flashed a playground-30km sign. Instantly I braked JUST enough, just in time! He was looking at the speedometer, as was I. The needle was exactly on 30, threatening to go over more. It didn't, though (yay).
A couple minutes more of driving strai . . . er, following the curvature of the road, changing lanes, braving stops on hills with a standard and such, and he tells me to get into the left lane again. I do so accordingly, when we suddenly hit a red light. That's when my worst scenario of the day occurred; I was on top of a left-turn arrow.
I mean, you don't go straight over those, right? You turn! But then, he didn't say to turn! What the hell? I asked him,
"Do you want me to turn here?"
"You do what you think is correct." He answers.
No tricks my ass . . . . . I scanned across the area. Moderate traffic every way (rush hour - great, huh?), road walled off with pylons on the right (great, construction . . .) . . . in the meantime, I'm still in this left-turn lane.
Ah, screw it! I signaled left. I then turned left. He then tells me to turn right as soon as I could. Then he tells me to do so again. Then he tells me to turn left. Then he pulled out that effing clipboard again (not that I was listening too hard, but it sounded like two different pen scribbles!). Well, I did something wrong in there . . .
Another five or so minutes pass by, another few clipboard tabs were noted (and obviously by now I'm feeling like crap). Then we turned away from the busy streets and down a quiet, residential road shaded by the tall trees on either side. I suddenly knew why we were here: we were gonna parallel. Crap. I'm just gonna tell you now, my big problem with parallel parking is that I'm never close enough to the curb. Well, I'm lined up with this little red number, and I've already signaled and shoulder-checked - guess I'm gonna parallel now.
Now the REALLY funny thing about this whole test had to be that I aced parallel parking perfectly! Of all the things I do right, I pull behind the car and hug the curb flawlessly (well . . . almost flawlessly)! I suddenly felt really good about myself. I suddenly felt I just might make it after all! He told me to pull out and turn left and stuff. Suddenly I wanted to do that too. I did it quite well. I saw some familiar streets - it was almost over! He tells me to change into the right-turn lane (which would bring us back to the building), which I do. Then he pulled out the clipboard (
WHATTHEHELL???).
We get back to the parking lot, and I stall-park (near-flawlessly, as usual). E-brake up, shifted into neutral, and I turn to see how I did. You know how people usually talk about such things, like it's holding your breath for unspeakable amounts of time and stuff. This was seriously like that! He's opening up the clipboard again, getting his bearings straight, and I'm just staring at what's to come. I mean (it's tense, I'm allowed to get corny again), I could literally feel my pulse in my skin!
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump . . . . . . .
"Not very good, Ernest," He finally says as he ticks off the thing in the corner that says, "did not pass - demerits exceeded 45".
My heart sank into my right knee (it was lower than the left). I was just devastated. I mean, I wasn't surprised, but it still hurts, ya know. He went through all the stuff I screwed up on. There were the random bad-form ones about turning, clutch-work and such, which racked a good bit of it. Then there was that damn 4-way stop one. Then there was that frickin' left-turn one. I got demerits for wrong lane or something - turns out I was allowed to go straight because of those pylons.
Now how the hell was I supposed to know that? So yeah, I got 65 demerits - out of an allowable 45.
We went back into the building where Dan was waiting. I just gave him a slowly shaking head and one of those "post-game hockey-interview" smiles (you know:
"well, we just weren't in it today, we weren't mentally prepared . . ."). He got the message. While we waited for my guy to get the papers figured out, we saw another couple of people - a girl my age and an older guy probably around Dan's - who seemed to be getting some speech about coming back in two weeks. I'm sure I can guess what it was about. Once again, I've scouted what's gonna happen to me.
The guy calls me up. Dan and I go up to the desk with the examiner. He gives me the whole "you can try again in two weeks" speech. I just want to go home. Suddenly I have sporadic breathing, and I'm inhaling slowly so I can calm down a bit.
As we get back to the car, Dan asks if I want to drive home. I'm just trying to breathe normally, and reply no. So I get into the passenger side;
well, it is a comfortable seat, isn't it? Dan turns on the CD player, which breaks the total silence in the car (which I was glad for, as I didn't really feel like talking at the moment - I'm glad Dan was able to pick that up).
Halfway home he asks me what I did wrong. I tell my story, and he simply reassures me on how simple it'll be to fix that next time. I just gave him another one of those post-game hockey smiles. I just went back to my slow breathing. Then I sniffled.
I just want to say now that I don't hold grudges against my adjudicator, and I don't hate him for failing me. I just want to say that I DO hate how he was just so . . . cold and unfeeling. He seriously radiated a lot of coldness to me! It was very uncomfortable driving with this guy.
I sniffled again, and felt something coming down my cheek.
Great. I've been able to not do this since the last family funeral I was at, and this is what it takes to put me over the edge . . . I just try to listen to the music and take my mind off my sniffling. As we near our alley, I look in the side-mirror at myself. I give myself a crappy chuckle, and tell Dan how much "I look like crap". Then I went back to listening to the music. By this time, Dan had changed it to radio. Then Green Day came on. I just thought it was hilarious; the situation was just screaming to hear "Time of Your Life", and here it was.
Now if seeing a guy shed a tear to this doesn't do it for ya, well . . . . . wait 'til September - maybe you'll get to see me do this again. Then again, maybe I'll pass this time. I'll just hafta make sure I have some happier music to listen to when I get back home.
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