I watched World’s Most Deadly Roads the other night on TV. These three American truckers arrive in India to test their behind-the-wheel wits against insanely narrow, one-way Himalayan roads. They’re overloaded with either leaky cans of jet fuel or scary-precious Buddha statues. I’m terrified and envious as they avoid head-ons and mile-high drop offs. It’s crazy.
These drivers are American-made, with American-sized trucker skills and swagger. They’re amazing.
I’m American made, too. But my driving skills could only be described as amazing, if you put finger quotes around the word, “amazing.” And then winked.
Everyone from Mr. Magoo to my 90-year-old father believes he’s a good driver, so I may be the only person in the world who’ll implore,
Call me a cab. I can’t drive!After years of jumped curbs and misjudged parking spaces, I realized that I’m terrible behind the wheel. My van is so scratched and dented it looks like a Hurt Locker test vehicle.
Others have shared their not-so-flattering opinion of my skill. The first unsolicited comment came about 10 years ago. With my young son in the family wagon, I tried numerous times to pull into a tiny space in front of a barber shop -- in full view of a bunch of guys. After what felt like hours of blood, sweat and curses, I was happy with my success. Never mind we had to use the hatch back to climb out.
On the walk from the car, an older gentleman who witnessed my moves, yelled out,
Hey, lady! That’s the worst parking job I’ve ever seen!And then he sniggered. I felt deflated, especially after I had just congratulated myself on a job well done.
The brutal truth of that man’s comment made me realize I don’t have the driving or parking chops to so much as offer advice to others on the road. Most likely, my parentage, my mental state and the source of my driver’s license are questioned.
I know these questions aren’t posed by inquiring minds. They’re angry because I just cut off someone during rush hour traffic or slowed to a crawl to read a road sign.
So when I say, “Call me a cab. I can’t drive,” it’s not because I’m a tipsy driver. It’s because I’m a terrible driver.
Oh my God, We're the same! Thanks for saying it!
ReplyDeleteThis reminded me of when my dad used to drive us to school and when you got your permit he let you take the wheel. I was really suprised when you pulled into the bus loading area and wound up on the curb, missing Sylvia Warner by inches. It didn't suprise me that you were on the curb or that you almost hit someone. What shocked me was that my dad remained cool as a cucumber. I couldn't believe that he wasn't yelling, cussing or throwing something! I guess your driving hasn't improved much since then.
ReplyDeleteLiz Cohoon