Driving in France - Part X

I was running out of time to take my driving exam and didn’t know what to do. The driving code is only valid for two years. I decided my best bet was to register at a school where I could drive an automatic car. This would at least get rid of the whole stick shift distraction and let me concentrate on more important things. I found the only driving school that had an automatic car. It was a school that catered to handicapped students. I explained to the driving instructor, an older man with as much enthusiasm as a math teacher, that I had little time left and had been driving an automatic car for many years. We began classes in a car fit with knobs and gadgets for people who only had use of one hand.

During our first couple classes, I was nervous and overly insecure from my past experiences. But soon I relaxed and absorbed everything my teacher said. He knew exactly what needed to be done to succeed the day of the exam. He took me to the areas where the exams almost always took place so I would be familiar with every round-about, every intersection, every tricky turn.

The day of our exam, we were three. A woman who looked to be in her 40s who had a lame right hand, a young guy in his twenties who also had little use in his right hand, and me an American with full use of both hands. We were in the car on our way to the exam.

Being superstitious, earlier that morning I forced my 4 year old daughter to make a good luck drawing for me and repeatedly asked her, “Do you think Mommy is a good driver?” To which she would answer every time, “Yes! Mommy is a good driver.”

I also pocketed a tissue overly sprayed with rosemary oil for concentration and lavender for staying calm. I inhaled until I was dizzy. The entire car was filled with my potent oils. Generously, I offered it to my two friends to inhale. They declined.

The whole way to the exam, our teacher pointed out all the one way streets and things to remember. We listened with dogged breath. We arrived at our starting place which happened to be a parking lot in a cemetery which I thought was ironic. As we approached the parking lot, a stout middle-aged woman with short hair and hiking boots waited in the parking lot with a clip board.

“Oh, no," our trio groaned in unison.

“What?,“ asked our teacher. “Don’t worry. She looks tough but she’s very fair.”

The young guy had to go first which left me and the woman alone. She chain-smoked and furiously went over the driving rules out loud. She had grey streaked hair.

“I’m 24,“ she said.

“Ohhh,” I said thinking she looked almost 40.

“Yeah, I know. I look a lot younger than I am. People always think I’m 18,“ she said.

“Oh,“ I said again wondering who those people were.

She went next and then it was my turn. I got into the car and felt calm. The woman asked me if I was handicapped in any way.

“No, I’m American,” I said. Boy, that came out wrong. “I’ve been driving an automatic since I was 16 years old,“ I added to clarify things.

“I see. And you don’t want to change your ways?,” she asked giving me a sideways glance.

“I’m just more comfortable with an automatic,“ I said.

“Okay. We’ll let’s do it.”

We left the parking lot. I managed to remember everything necessary to appear as a good driver. As we got onto the round-about, however, I missed my exit. Instead of panicking, braking and trying to get off the round-about, I stayed calm and with the most class a dame could muster I said with poise, “Oops, I missed the exit. I’ll just go around again and do it right.” I couldn’t have been prouder of how I handled the situation.

The exam went on fairly smoothly though I did make some mistakes. I kept my cool and fairly she gave me several second chances to amend my mistakes and I did.

She shook my hand and asked me to get out of the car. I had no idea if I had passed or not, but at least it hadn’t been a horrible time. My comrades and I watched the examiner and our teacher talk for a while and then they shook hands, she went her way and our teacher told us to come get in the car.

He told us we wouldn’t have our results for at least 24 hours. The examiners no longer give the results in person because too many students had over-reacted.(Oh, how I understand this new rule!) But, he said he was certain we all passed. And, I’m happy to report my teacher was right. I passed my driving test!

Cheers all around! I was so happy I sent text messages to the world and because it is so hard, everyone was congratulating me as if I had just been elected mayor of the town hall.

And that, folks, concludes my Driving in France stories.