I can give utmost assurance, to anyone who ever might ride with me, that, be I asked or required by the situation, I will be able to find the headlights like no one’s business. That information has been forever flensed into my brain, thanks to the fiasco of last test.
Later on I looked up the guidelines of the driver’s test in the Pennsylvania Driver’s Manual, and found out that failure to identify brights, headlights and four-ways definitely means no license today. So really I failed on the first thing Tygger asked me to do, and he only let me move on to fail in other ways because he felt sorry for me.
Tuesday, after much deliberation and an hour and a half of driving through the freezing rain, I was ready to take it again. I thought I’d do well.
Ahh. Big mistake.
We were shunted over to the middle line – away from Tygger, who I honestly would have preferred. He was fairly kind and easygoing, even as I thoroughly embarassed myself.
This time, though, I was in Ronda’s line.
Ah, Ronda. I’d heard tales from my colleagues about her, and they were never nice. I don’t know a single person who claims to have passed under Ronda.
To be fair, I only know two people who took tests at Gettysburg, and one of them had Tygger. But the other one failed three times under her. You know what that means? It means you have to go back and start all over again, permit test and everything. Then he went to Cockeysville and passed the first time. So my fear was understandable.
She told me she wasn’t my mother and instructed me to go out to my vehicle and drive it behind the car that was sitting behind an orange cone in the lot. That car contained a jittery-looking applicant with dark hair. After he left I was to nose up to the cone myself.
Staring at that cone, I felt like a seal bouncing a ball. What was this madness? I didn’t have to do these crazy tricks under Tygger! Whatever, I’d let her play her game. Clearly torturing children was her pasttime.
After failing the kid in front of me, Ronda entered my car and told me to turn it three clicks but keep the engine off. Easy enough.
We then went through identifying every feature of the car, and I performed admirably, except – What the hell are low lights? Aren’t they just headlights? If so, she was really being mean, because she asked me to turn those on after I’d put on the headlights, and acted all huffy when I couldn’t comply.
But since she couldn’t legally fail me for that mess-up, she got back in the car, and told me to drive to the parallel parking exam. I stepped on the brake, put the car in reverse and –
Ha-ha! It’s not going! You know why that is? Because I didn’t turn it on, that’s why! This Ronda was helpful to point out as I flusteredly turned the gear to park and turned the key the rest of the way.
Well, I hadn’t failed yet. And my parallel parking routine was spotless, even with a window only half defrosted. I looked out my windows and asked Ronda if I was within all the cones.
“Well, I don’t know, you need to tell me,” she said.
I respectfully declare that that’s not my job, Ma. If I were the one judging my driving I’d have my license already. But I digress. I had parked just fine and that fact was confirmed when she told me I had three forwards and backs to escape the spot. If I had failed, I could run over the cones now for all she cared.
I looked to the back window (which was by now almost clear) and sporadically poked the brakes, aiming to get as close to the back cones as I could without actually touching them. This upset Ronda, who declared I needed to provide a smooth ride if I wanted to get my license.
Okay then. If braking multiple times counts as reckless driving then I’d hate to see your reaction to butterfly houses, or screensavers.
This smooth-ride protest was made a few more times during the exam, particularly at a spot where braking any less than thrice would have been a breach of the low – I was behind a truck, at a stop sign, leading into a road lined with parked cars.
Today was not the day, she informed me, and I sighed internally, knowing it was another four hours wasted.
My dad was not as internal. He was OUTRAGED. He declared that he was going to take me off to Cockeysville next time, and that he would write a letter to the governor. Then we left, fuming.
I did my best to fume with him. Smooth ride? Yea, I’ll tell you about a smooth ride, lady!
Honestly I was just glad my parents didn’t think I was the incompetent one this time around.
