My Other Car is a Jet Plane

I think one of my callings might be a race car driver, or somesuch. Put me in anything with wheels and you’ll be eating my dust. Which of course is a problem, when it comes to getting a license.

Car goes forward. Car doesn’t stop. Not natural.


Gah, it’s going to be a disaster. I just hope I don’t kill anyone.

Problem is, my own instincts are pretty much right, and what was missing I’ve learnt from my parents, who taught me to be a real driver. Not some anal retentive paranoid textbook driver. You don’t stop suddenly all the time – people will run into the back of you. You don’t brake leading up to a green light, you cruise and be ready to brake, until you’re close enough to get through fine even if they do change. Then you accelerate back up to speed (if necessary) to make sure you do get through the lights. All intuitive.

Of course, when I’m in the car with an instructor, a tester or my mother, I freak out. Why, in this day and age of video cameras and Big Brother surveillance, can’t I do my test by myself? I can driver perfectly fine by myself. It’s the Others who make me bad. :)

Yes, the Others… it’s all their fault…. :P

I can actually drive well enough – I’m not going to hit anything or kill anyone. But it’s all these mundane details they screw me up. “Oh oh, your rear wheel touched those double lines while you were turning out of that street there… FAIL. Muahahahahahahahaha.” And then they poke me with pitchforks.

Of course, to be fair, I do have a habit of cutting corners when they’re clear, which probably is a bad habit to have. But still. Pfft. :P

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