DRIVING FOOL

by David Francis


There are those who say I am a bad driver. Those who don't say it either haven't seen me in action, or have and still can't bring themselves to talk about it. It is not a sight for the fain of heart. The subtleties of four-way stops escape me. I lack the skills to negotiate a left-hand turn at a traffic light without cutting off some on-coming traffic. And one-way streets--their outlets simply pull me in like a moth to a flame. My only saving grace is that since I rarely go over 30 mph at anytime, I am usually much more annoying than dangerous.

But I am not going to try and defend myself. Sure it would be nice after performing some incredibly mindless feat of transportation to see some guy stick his head out his car window and scream: "Hey, I feel for you! Driving can be tricky stuff! But just because you are a lousy driver doesn't mean you are a complete idiot! Keep your chin up!" However, six years of driving experience tells me I should never expect this kind of sympathy and understanding from other drivers. So I will just admit it. I am a terrible driver! I have never denied it! To me, driving is just one more responsibility in a long list of responsibilities I never wanted in the first place. I never wanted this responsibility anymore than I ever wanted the responsibility of cooking for myself. If it were somehow linked to public transportation, I assure you my cooking would be at least as perilous as my driving. Fortunately, as it is, there is no one to scream and honk at me every time I weld a layer of macaroni & cheese to the bottom of a pan.

Some people claim that driving is somehow linked to one's sexuality. This wouldn't surprise me at all since sex comes even higher on the list of tricky responsibilities foisted upon me than even driving does. At least with all these other responsibilities --driving, cooking, doing the laundry, etc.--you got to watch your parents do it for you for years and years and you can at least pick up a few nuances here and there. And with driving, you even get a liscense, so no matter how bad you may be, you can always point out that you're at least good enough to pass all the government regulations at any rate. If people want to yell at me as I come to full stop in order to make a right turn, that's okay. Over the years have grown so used to people swearing, screaming, and flipping me off out their car windows that it really doesn't phase me anymore. But I am always fearful that someday I am going to get flipped off during sex, and I don't think that would be so easy to shrug off.

But there is no point in delving too deeply into that problem. My main concern is this dilemma of my driving responsibility. The way I see it, the best that can be done is to take it away. As I've said, I only took it up in the first place because it was forced upon me. If not for other un-asked for responsibilities such as going to work, shopping, etc., I would hardly ever drive at all. If the more skilled drivers of this nation were willing to arrange matters so these burdens were taken away from me, I would happily relinquish my driving rights. Well, actually, I would want my cable hook-up and subscription paid for me too. And one of those new bread machines everyone seems to have these days. And come to think of it, a constant supply of orange juice would be nice too. Well, I'll just make a list, and you can all decide what having me off the road is worth to you. If I were you, I would act now, before I join forces with the most feared of drivers--old men in hats.