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The driving test
It looked like it would rain. It was a cool, breezy day and the sun had taken refuge behind a blanket of dark clouds, as I stood nervously. I tried to calm down but I was drenched in sweat from head to toe.
After months and months of training, I was finally going to take my driving test. There were only three people besides me. One was returning after giving his test, with a dejected look on his face – he had apparently failed the test; another had left a quarter of an hour ago, in utter despair. A throng of butterflies was fluttering in my stomach. As the girl standing in front of me left, I closed my eyes, trying hard to concentrate on anything but the test that loomed like a nightmare in front of me, my lips moving in silent prayer. After what felt like centuries, I heard my name being called. I clenched my sweaty hands nervously and hurried forward, succeeding, with difficulty, not to look gloomy.
The examiner, a squat woman with a piercing stare, gave me the instructions. It was, in my opinion, a strange set-up. I had to drive along a dangerously curvy path bordered with high steel fences with numerous hazardous turns, cross a rough hill littered with jagged rocks, and then stop right inside a dark red rectangle drawn on the ground… Man, it was going to be a bumpy ride!
I scrambled inside the car with a miserable expression. It was astonishing to see how easily the examiner fitted herself in the seat beside me, being thrice my size. I clenched the steering wheel and started the car.
The road twisted and turned dangerously as I tried to keep calm, sweating profusely. I made a perfect U-turn, took a deep breath of relief, and almost crashed in the steel fence. Immensely dismayed by the sharp, knife-like glare the examiner gave me, I reversed my car at once and set off once more. Once the path ended, the hill was the next great challenge. It was hard enough to climb it, but as I (thankfully) reached the top and started to descend it, my car picked up speed at a tremendous rate, and went out of control. I finally managed to get it back under my control, starting to feel nettled. But trouble was yet to come — as soon as I managed to slow my car down a bit, the rectangle made me halt my car with a deafening screech. I couldn’t see how I would have even fitted in it — It was barely the size of the car. I came to a stop a foot away from it, desperate, frantic and dizzy, and got out just in time to see the back tyre burst.
“You’ve failed,” the examiner said almost triumphantly showing all her yellowish teeth as she grinned broadly. “Try again in six months”.
I cut in sarcastically, bowing, “Just great, terrific, superb,” and stalked away before she could say anything else, firmly deciding never to take another driving test all my life. I know it now — driving just wasn’t my thing!
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