Driving in France - Part IX

Unfortunately, Boo Boo decided I was not ready to take the driving exam again. He refused to sign me up and said I needed to take lessons awhile longer. This was a very dark moment. I agreed to take five more lessons even though he said he was not sure five would be enough. Each lesson, I felt like I was getting worse. After the fifth class, I demanded he sign me up for another driving exam.

“Okay, but when you don’t pass, I do not want you to hold me responsible. You need to promise me that you are not going to come back and say it’s my fault when you fail because I do not think you are ready.”

“Fine," I said completely deflated. “I won’t blame you if I fail. But I’m not taking any more lessons.”

“That’s a mistake,” he said.

The date was set and the day arrived. As we pulled into the parking lot where the exam begins, we saw a woman examiner waiting for us in a mini-skirt and high heels.
“Oh, no,” said Boo Boo’s fiancé. “It’s her. It’s the bitch.”

All the hope I had drained from me. From the time I got into the car, from the moment she took control of the steering wheel at the end of the exam as we pulled into the parking lot in front of my comrades, was utter anguish. Never in my life have I been belittled more than during those thirty minutes I spent with her.

After every move I made, came a question from her forcing me to painstakingly explain why I made such an asinine decision. For example, I had to explain to her why I made a U-turn when she wanted me to continue driving through a neighborhood.

My answer, “I thought it was a dead end,” only mortified to find the street went through and I had somehow imagined it was an “impasse,” as it is called in French. I looked like I had no idea what was going on and in retrospect, I didn’t.

As I mentioned, she grabbed hold of the wheel so all my classmates could see us returning. This gesture left no doubt I had failed the exam. She wouldn’t even let me park the car. After we parked, she told me I was too “insufficient” to drive. She went over every single wrong thing I did with a deprecating interrogation about it.

She finally told me the exam was over. I opened the door and without looking at her said, “Good bye,“ I made a conscious decision to not thank her. I wanted dearly to say something brutal, the idea of punching her even crossed my mind and my adrenaline would have definitely been to my advantage had I chosen to use violence, but no intelligent words or actions came. I couldn’t face my classmates so I decided to find the nearest bus stop in the village and left without a trace.

As I walked down the street, I buried my head in my hands and sobbed, only glancing up when absolutely necessary to find my way. I boarded the magic bus that took me away from the atrocious place. I made no phone call. I just shuddered every few minutes as one does after a good cry like a child who had just been spanked. That night I couldn’t sleep. The scenario of “the bitch” and me ran through my head incessantly. The only thing that brought me refuge was the decision to give up, fold.