Sunday, 3 November 2013

Pestilicence – Part 2

After ten years I tried again! This time I even attended learner’s licence classes – and I passed the test with flying colours, the first time round! The very capable Beebee Boone, the more mature lady who would presumably understand my hang-ups, was my next hapless instructor. I went on to fail the driver’s test two more times. Every time I attempted to execute my unique version of parallel parking, one or more of those diabolic white poles jumped up in my line of vision and fell onto the tarmac with a resounding thud! Don’t ask me why … And in my shock and horror I also once managed to let the car roll which, in itself, constitutes immediate failure – end of the test. Oh Beebee, Beebee so sorry about this boo-boo! At this critical juncture, my son reckoned I should throw myself on the mercy of Speedy Gonzales and his girl, Scheronda (she with the scrawny doggerel called Poopsie) – a most formidable trio. Speedy and Co. had a track record second to none. All their students pass. Full stop. No ifs, no buts. Well, thanks to me, this fearless former traffic officer almost had an apoplectic fit in the parking lot behind Shoprite just before my fourth driver’s test. All of a sudden I was a complete blank and could not remember anything about alley docking, parallel parking and/or the pre-trip inspection. Of course I sent the poles flying – again – in the course of my fourth and final test … And so I blackened poor Speedy’s name, besmirched his hitherto irreproachable reputation. Scheronda took me home in a huff, before I even had time to book another appointment … As time marched on relentlessly, I finally booked a few lessons with the charming young man, Valiant Prince, the son of none other than Bertie Bullfrog, the first instructor who tried to show me the ropes, more than ten years ago … Vallie and I really hit it off, and there was a glimmer of hope in my heart. And then my learner’s licence expired – again … Oh, I have shed many bitter tears about all these mishaps – especially when I failed my first learner’s and my fourth driver’s test. But I also learned to laugh at myself. I have a story to tell – hopefully a funny one. Come to think of it, isn’t a flaky fifty-year-old failure far more amusing than a whizz kid of 18, who passes without batting an eye-lid? And dear neurotic Poopsie loved me to bits. I would like to give myself the benefit of the doubt and believe that this scrawny little doggerel was an excellent judge of character, and that he came to the indisputable conclusion that I am actually a rather nice old bat, even though I should never drive a car, to quote my dad. To be continued – The amazing story of Cha Sa-soon

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