I like to think of myself as a moderately good driver. None of my driving skills came from John, my teacher. In fact, all I think I actually learned from him was that really short haircuts look really bad on elder people. I was overjoyed to walk out for the last time of the red brick building that housed both A Auto Drivers Ed and the head sales office of the Church of Somethingorother. Sadly, I had to return a few months later to take my "practical" driving lessons. These were almost as bad as I pictured them to be. Forty minutes jammed in a smelly car that had no visibility with a crotchety old man who ranted about whatever was on his mind. I remember being lectured about the dangers of heat exhaustion, the importance of being on time for dinner, how Jesus saved me, my soul, and my car, and how the post office had ruined the teacher's son's birthday. Wahoo.
On this particular day, I had lucked out, and gotten the yellow car. The yellow car was a piece of junk, but it had a rearview mirror that actually moved, and the seat didn't stick to your back when you got out. This was to be the last of my lessons before the "test", a trip with a nightmarish mystique around it, but turned out to be nothing more than a trip around the block. This final lesson took me downtown and back. I was paired up with John, the creepy, religious, old guy who taught German at the school across the street. We were about half way to downtown when John gave me a disturbing instruction.
"Aladdin, I want you to close your eyes." "What!?!" "Don't worry, I'll grab the wheel if we're about to run into anything."
Not wanting to upset my teacher, I closed my eyes, and experienced about fifteen seconds of driving blind. I could feel John making slight adjustments in the steering, but it was still absolutely terrifying. Fifteen seconds might not sound like a lot, but close your eyes and count to fifteen. It's a long time.
After I had opened my eyes and regained my composure, John asked me if I wanted to take a short break. "Sure," I said. I thought we were going to pull over and take a five minute break in Starbucks. Boy, was I wrong. John had me pull over into a decrepit parking lot next to what appeared to be an abandoned car repair shop. We got out, and walked to a side door, just to the right of the main garage.
"A few of my buddies work here, I think you'll like to meet them," He said.
We went through the door, and I felt as if I had entered a 1920s poker room. I couldn't even see to the walls through all of the smoke. Four or five red cigarette tips peered at me through the gloom, and I made out the tubby shape of a magnificently huge man. He was wearing overalls that didn't quite fit him, and his eyes seemed to not really care what the other one was doing. He offered me a giant soda, and out of politeness, I took it and sipped quietly for a few seconds.
"Listen, kid" he said. His voice was the perfect 'Well, there's your problem!' car mechanic voice, and it was so low that you could feel your lunch vibrate in your stomach when he talked.
"Let me tell you a few things about cars. One: Don't ever let your engine overheat. Y'all don't know how many cars I've fixed with busted radiators. Two: Keep your tire pressure at a good level. And Three: Don't let your friends drive your car. Not your girlfriend, not your best friend, no one. They'll reck it, second they take it out." The other cigarette tips grunted and nodded through the haze.
After about ten minutes of awkward holding of my breath, we left. I felt like I'd never be able to breathe clearly again. We got back to the red brick building OK, and I slept with a smile on that night thinking that I'd never have to do that again.
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