Tuesday, 3 October 2017

C is for Cars 

When I saw the theme for today was 'Car' I had to fight the urge to hypnotically walk to the kitchen, pour myself a Gin and think, "I'll just fuck this Blogtober off."

I don't drive.

The essence I like to give off is that I'm far too hippyish and at one with the Earth to pollute the environment with car fumes. The reality is, I'm terrified of driving and walk everywhere.
Literally, everywhere.
I've tried driving, don't think I haven't! I even still own a provisional license, which I sometimes refer to as 'My Driving Licence" just so I can at least pretend I'm a grown up.

The first time I got behind the wheel I was around 21. My mum had bought L plates and decided she would teach me. Everything was a good ole laugh when we were cruising around on car park, but then for some unfathomable reason she took me on a road and decided to get me to do a three point turn

As a lorry was coming

Ok, it wasn't a lorry. It was more of a big van. But the point is, it was a large moving vehicle, coming towards us as I was positioned sideways in the road.
I did the only thing a sensible person does do in a situation like that. I screamed and jumped out.
That was the end of our lessons.

A couple of years ago I decided I needed to give driving another shot. I was hindering my chances of exploring different avenues in my career, and the trauma from the last incident was now a blurry haze that happened ten years prior.
This time I booked a professional driving instructor.
He was nice enough, but a bit too PC for my liking. It was very obvious that he was cautious about me being a woman and clearly had some sort of paranoia going on that if he said or did something that could be misinterpreted I'd be slapping a sexual harassment charge on him.
If he needed to take the wheel or the stick he would calmly say "I'm going to reach over now and take the wheel, so I do apologise if I accidentally brush your arm"
It was both confusing and completely unnecessary. And felt more like I was being sexually harassed than it would have if he'd slapped my arse!

On my first driving lesson with him we began on an industrial car park. Once my confidence was up I ventured down the road that lead out of the car park, following a large lorry (this actually was a lorry this time).
Out of nowhere sirens started going off and I was completely surrounded by police cars.
"I'm going to take over the pedals now and reach over for the wheel, if I accidentally brush pa...."
"Just move the bloody car!!!"
It turns out I had been following a lorry full of illegal immigrants.

I carried on lessons but seemed to progress in no way whatsoever. I didn't gain any more confidence, in fact I got worse. I had to start taking American hard gums with me to lessons just to stop me from passing out.

So, no. Cars and I are not the best of friends.
But on a serious note, what is it about people that they feel driving is some sort of confirmation of adulthood anyway? Why do I feel judged when someone asks me "You can't drive?"
Maybe I don't WANT to drive.
Maybe I enjoy walking and decreasing my chances of being smashed in to.
Yes, it's a ball ache sometimes, but mostly it's fine. It keeps me fit and healthy, blows away the germs, and gives me thinking space. I'm not any less of an adult because I don't drive (I'm not sure if I'm trying to convince you here, or me.)

I am however, one less person pissing you off on your commute to work!

1 comment:

  1. I'm so surprised by how many of us in this little blogtober group don't drice. I've driven for 13 years since I was 17 so can't imagine not druving. But hubby didn't pass till he was 29!