Drive

When I was 16 years old, my parents hired a driving instructor to teach me how to drive. His name was Bob.

My first interaction with Bob would come to set the tone for all of our adventures together. He pulled into my driveway with his red Camry and told me to get in. Now, for those of you who don't know-- and I, at the time, did not-- driving instructors have a second brake pedal installed on the passenger's side in case of emergencies. I didn't even know that was possible. To me, it just seemed like a weird footrest.

For the next few minutes, Bob tried desperately to get the car to move. It wouldn't budge. He stepped on the gas. He adjusted every possible gear and lever he had at his disposal. He cursed loudly. And, finally, he widened his eyes and snapped his gaze onto me. 

"Are you pressing the brake?"

"No!... Yes. Yes, I am, Bob. I don't know why I said no. In my defense--"

"Get your foot off the pedal."

"Okay, Bob."

And then we drove away.

For the first time, I looked into the back and I noticed a quivering fat boy sitting there quietly. Naturally, I asked "hey, Bob, why is there a kid in the back of your car?" 

"That's William. He's a student."

"Hi, Will."

(SILENCE)

And then we dropped William off at home. In spite of the fact that I always had my lesson at the same time on the same day every week, I never saw William again. To his credit, William was a master of stealth and camouflage and I often imagine that he went on to be a super spy.

Regardless, Bob eventually let me drive the car. I remember my first time driving with Bob very clearly. I remember it clearly because of one very specific moment. A moment that went something like this:

"Keep going. Nice and easy."

"Bob--"

"Check your mirrors every five to eight--"

"Bob--"

"--Seconds and brake before you turn--"

"Hey, Bob--"

"WHAT?!"

"There's a squirrel in the center of the road, Bob. What should I do?"

"Just keep going. He'll move."

"He's not moving, Bob!"

"He will! Just keep--"

"BOB! HE DIDN'T MOVE AND NOW HE'LL NEVER MOVE AGAIN!"

"PULL OVER!"

And that's how I killed a squirrel the first time I drove a car. I never trusted Bob again after that.

Bob taught me for a couple months and, honestly, I wasn't too terrible a driver. We had our disagreements on how certain things should be done. For example, there was that one time I was driving on the highway and Bob caught me sidling up to an eighteen wheeler and he asked me what I was doing and I replied "the fast and the furious" and he yelled at me. And there was also the fact that every week he asked me if I watched hockey and every week he was unreasonably upset that I told him I wasn't some maple-syrup-drinking Canadian. But, generally speaking, things were going well.

I took the driving test 3 times and failed twice. The first time I failed, it was for no apparent reason. I did everything perfectly. I even managed to parallel park with the utmost precision in spite of the fact that my tester was a whale of a woman whose girth completely blocked both windows on the passenger side of the car. But she failed me. Her reasoning? "You looked back when you reversed. You're supposed to use the rear view mirror." To which I mumbled "you were supposed to eat the salad not the bakery next door."

The second time I failed with the exact same tester. This time I was "too close to the cone." Did I hit the cone? No. But I was within 6 inches of the cone and that was apparently "too close." I tried to reason with the behemoth, saying "but, ma'am, the cone is supposed to represent the curb and, even if I did hit the curb-- which you admit I did not-- that wouldn't actually damage my vehicle or the curb!"

But she was unswayed by my words, as I imagine she was also unswayed by most things that sway people of average proportions.

The third time I asked for a new tester. I'll admit that I wasn't having the best day. I nudged one of the cones. And guess what? He didn't even give a fuck. He just looked at me and said "You passed and I gotta go to the bathroom." And then he was gone...like some ethereal sprite that needed to pinch a loaf...

Which left me with Bob. I looked at him and held up the sheet that said I passed. 

"Bob."

"Yes, Mr. Mahtani?"

"We are equals now, Bob."

"No."

We went to the DMV and I got my provisional license. Two days later, while driving back from the mall on my own at night, a dumbass with no headlights on swerved into my lane as I was turning onto the road and I ended up driving onto the divider. Where I stayed for five minutes as I yelled "fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!" and other drivers probably said "what's that dude doing on the divider?"

And that's the story of how I got my license.