Turning Signals and a Classy Lady

Update: I wrote this several months ago and have since gotten extensive driving experience. I even had a dream where I stole a car so I think it's pretty safe to say that I am now a goddess of driving.

There are certain things in my life that never fail to bring unrest to my heart. For example, every single time somebody on a bike or skateboard is sharing the sidewalk with me, I will almost die.

You know when you accidentally run into someone in the hallway face to face and when you try to go around them, they go in the same direction?

(I like to call this the hallway tango.)

So you try turning the other way and sure enough, they do too. You both have a jolly-good laugh about it and then brief a sigh of relief once you've successfully passed each other. Well here's the thing: doing that when the other person is on wheels is a completely different experience wrought with terror and dread. This undoubtedly happens to me every time a biker comes along.

It's like my brain shuts off and isn't able to tell my feet to go in the opposite direction of the biker. No, no, no. When my feet are left with no master, they do exactly what they're not supposed to do. (Which, in this circumstance, is to walk right in front of the biker's path and then stop and stand awkwardly until the biker either crashes or hits you.) Luckily, I'm normally walking with somebody when this happens, and they have the brains to pull me out of the way. Anyway, that wasn't the point.

Along with bikers, getting touched on the neck, and the thought that I could someday accidentally bite my tongue completely off, driving fills me with utmost dread.

I'm a good driver, I really am. I'm just not good at following directions or rules or street signs. I got my driver's license late in life and only weeks before leaving for school without a car. Since my mom is a nervous driver, she almost always refused to let me drive her anywhere. As a result, I got practically no practice. I got my license, and then moved away from home for almost a solid year and a half. Most of that time was spent without a car.

I was asked to pick up something for my mom at the store. This meant I had to take the car. I had to drive, alone. (It's actually best that I drive alone because I narrate the entire ride aloud to myself to calm down.)

Once I got past our bumper-eating driveway of death, I had to actually deal with the big road and other drivers. You know those drivers you hate because they're in front of you and they refuse to turn right when they have time to? I'm that driver.

So I was already nervous and trying to remember the difference between turning left and right and which pedal means "GO GO GO FASSSST NOWWWW" and which one means "STOP FOREVER STOP STOP NOW." (When I get flustered, I forget which one is which. That oughta strike some confidence into your hearts.)

I approach a big 'ol traffic light with lots of cars and movement. I was being very cautious and attempting to look confident, but when I tried to turn my right blinker on, I turned on the windshield wiper instead. Instant panic ensued. When I panic, I laugh hysterically, and that is exactly what I did while trying to figure out how to turn off the wipers and on the blinker. I got things lined up just in time for the light to turn green. Crisis averted.

Long story short, I laughed hysterically for the rest of the drive and then bought apples and garbage bags for my mom. Moral of the story? A classy lady, like myself, always knows how to keep her composure in times of dismay.