Driving Me Crazy Part II (A belated continuation of my brake-dancing)

Okay, when I promised to continue this story LAST Monday, I really had every intention of honouring the promise. But you know what they say about intentions: Apparently the road to hell used up all the good ones for its paving.

(Mind you, not that any of you seem to have been holding your breaths to read the rest of the saga. Not even any of my regular imaginary readers fell for the lame cliff hanger I employed for the ending! I’m so hurt...)

For those of you who have NO IDEA what I am going on about (as per usual), and who will absolutely refuse to click on the first part of this story, a quick recap:

About two weeks ago, I  got to thinking (NO mean feat, that!) about the sorry state of public transit in South Africa.
All this thinking compelled me to confess my hatred of driving, and the fact that I am terrified of it AND terrible at it. Really, really terrible. As proof that I am one of those drivers that you all love to loathe, I cited the following evidence: When someone 100 kilometres ahead of me taps their brakes, I slam on mine.

See? Told you. Terrible.

Anyway, that post ended up with me reluctantly going for my driver’s license test at a testing ground in a rural area where the female population had grown extinct.

The cop who conducted my test was a decrepit old thing. Seriously, he looked as if he himself was also hovering on the verge of extinction. However, I was not going to allow his looks to diminish my terror. I mean, that movie wasn’t called “Grumpy old men” for nothing!

Sure, I had gender and youth on my side. But that was it. I certainly had no driving skills! However, with fifteen professional driving school lessons below the seatbelt and an empty bank account (courtesy of those same professional driving school lessons), I had no choice but to pass that test. Also, I had a job offer, but I HAD to have my driver’s license before I could accept the job.

So I tried distracting the old man from my awful driving in the only way I knew how. I hiked up my skirt to reveal my ankles (he was old, okay? He hailed from the sort of era that, when a woman showed her ankle, she was branded as loose) and proceeded to talk his ear off.

The poor guy. He didn’t know whether we were coming or going. Which suited me just fine, because it also explained why he didn’t even raise an eyebrow when I rolled the car back all the way to the beginning of the course after attempting the uphill pull away.

I chattered nervously throughout the entire test. And the more I scratched the poor gear box, the louder I talked.

Must’ve worked, because he didn’t say anything. Not that he would’ve been able to get a word in edgewise…

Of course, considering his age he may have been completely deaf, but then that would ruin my next theory.

It was probably all my talking that prompted him to do what he did next. He was probably so afraid that my endlessly gabbing mouth and I would have to come back and that he would be subjected to us again, he ended up passing me. That’s right! I became the first one out of all my siblings to get my driver’s license on the first try!

And now I am the one who is the most reluctant to drive. My sisters? They all have that racing car driver spirit that makes them feel at one with their cars.

If I had any choice, I would hand over my keys forever tomorrow. Seriously. If I never have to drive again in my entire life, I would be happy. I really hate it that much and I know that I am really terrible at it.

Unfortunately we live in a country where our public transit system is virtually non-existent. Or, in the event that it does exist, it is not safe to use for a girl travelling alone. Not having to drive anywhere yet still being able to get everywhere is one of the things I miss the most about living overseas. As I was being transported through the extensive network of train tunnels crisscrossing the underbellies of cities like New York and Washington, D.C., all I had to do was sit back and relax with a book or a newspaper.

So until we get decent, safe, punctual, fast and affordable for all public transportation in South Africa, none of us are allowed to suffer from road rage! Because unfortunately the bad drivers, like me, have no choice but to be on the road as well.

Please keep that in mind, because that girl nervously tapping her brakes in front of you, quite literally driving you crazy? She could very well be me.