OC HIGH : Driving: Take 2 : There’s a Reason the Instructor Rides ‘Shotgun’

Today was my first day on the road. I got my driving permit yesterday from the DMV and had scheduled a two-hour driving session with George, the driving instructor.

George had been waiting at my house for half an hour before I came home. Even though I was five minutes early, he was not happy. I don’t think George is ever very happy. George said it was important to wait at home for him, to be there at least 30 minutes before the appointment. I thought he was the one who was supposed to do the waiting. After all, I was paying him.

Next, he proceeded to gauge my adeptness at hand signals. I soon learned that the palm must face forward with the fingers together for a right-hand signal. George was not satisfied until the 17th time I belted out “RIGHT!” and signaled the correct position. He was sure the DMV would flunk me for something less than a shout.

He also demonstrated the proper way to use the brake. I was told to smoothly and slowly press down, 1-2-3-4-5.

Finally we began. I pushed the stick into drive, and, with sweaty palms, I was on my way. I wobbled past three neighboring streets, and then I saw it. George, of course, warned me of it first, by asking, “What’s up above?” The unavoidable answer was a stop sign.

I remembered how my mom nagged my dad about his stops--how he did them too abruptly and jolted the car. I would be careful. About 300 feet in front of the white line, I slowly depressed the brake.

I remembered: 1-2-3-4-5. Easy.

Except my foot depressed the brake 1-2-345.

We stopped with a jolt. . . . I was just glad that I had stopped. I had performed my first driving activity! George wasn’t as thrilled. He said--quite rudely I might add--that I had almost broken his neck. He also pointed out that I was about 15 feet in back of the white line.

I rolled forward and stopped again. Whew.

I looked forward, but all I could see were upcoming stop signs. I had to turn left, and then I had to turn right again, soon. I began the left turn slowly and uncertainly, wobbling a bit and pressing the gas (a no-no according to George).

Suddenly, I felt hairy appendages cross over my arms, and my turn was straightened out.

After that heart-stopping experience, George told me to relax and take it easy, but I noticed that he was the one chewing a stick of gum to death.

I finally arrived at a road called Yale Loop. It is a circle, and we were taking it because there were a lot of stop signs and signal lights. Great.

Around and around we went, and before every stop sign George had to say, “What’s up above?” I went around Yale Loop about 10 billion times. It went something like this: Go . . . light signal, jolt . . . Go . . . “What’s up above?” . . . Jolt . . . GO . . . “What’s up above?” . . . Jolt . . . go . . . You get the picture, right?

There was one deviation. One time a woman was waiting calmly at the island in the middle of the street. I had stopped and jolted at the stop sign already and began to go because the car in the lane next to me was going. I depressed the gas pedal and didn’t go anywhere, so I pressed harder. Suddenly I heard a loud vroom. Wow! I sounded like I was at the Indy 500, but I wasn’t getting anywhere.

I finally noticed George taking the initiative as instructor, using his private brake to hold me back while he motioned the woman across.

The two hours had almost ended, and I was relieved . . . until George mentioned that I would be doing three-point turns, U-turns and other strangely named turns the next time I saw him.

Lucky, lucky me.