Navigating

Was thinking about what I could blog about, being quite the boring bugger I am, having no job and no cash to play around with hence always being at home doing practically nothing, when something dawned upon me: I have so much material to mine out of my driving lessons at the driving school!

I have a few options to choose from:
1) Indiscriminately degrade inconsiderate motorists I have met while out on the roads
2) Indiscriminately degrade the different characters that are my instructors
3) Indiscriminately degrade my own driving skills (or lack thereof)

Methinks option three seems a bit harsh.

I haven't really encountered that many disgusting motorists.

So far, three types of instructors I have encountered:
a) Chatty, yappy Uncle types
b) Candidate-for-Tester/Super Safety-First types
c) Slacker types (of which I have come across two variations)

Mercifully Type A I met on my first lesson, which involved introduction to the car (hello wiper switch! Hello boot!), moving backwards and forwards, and travelling at 6km/h. So it was ok, he could talk all he wanted without the danger of distracting me too much. Here's a snippet of what transpired between us that afternoon:
"My superior sometimes watches me from the office (overlooking the circuit). He must wonder ah, what is it that this joker does, how come his students always come out looking so happy, hahahaha..."
Granted, Uncle was a jovial, friendly guy, heartlander-ish and endearingly more comfortable conversing in Mandarin. I enjoyed his lesson, but was a bit pressured into making small talk with him. I'd much rather be concentrating on my driving lesson than smiling and nodding politely, peppered by "Oh?"s and "Really"s at his revelations at having once operated a private driving centre with four (or was it eight?) cars under him and his partners.

I'll come to Type B next, because that's my favourite type. Now, I said there're two types of C that I've encountered: One was Mr. F, so-named because he was flirty, and the other was another Uncle-ly, fatherly types. As a result, I blame Mr. F for my lack of confidence at stopping by kerbsides, and the other guy for not correcting my poor breaking habits enough (which, not-so incidentally, Mr Safety-First commented on ad nauseum). Mr. F is actually fun to have, 'cause we kind of click, somehow, and trade jokes with each other. But he sometimes ventures into territory that affords some amount of discomfiture, like revealing that he was tired because he'd gone late-night shopping to buy boxers for himself. Ok, thanks, but I didn't really need to know. Mr. Uncle-Father was a few notches more boring, but because I had to navigate heavy rainfall and corollary to that, poor visibility, it was still a tahan-able session. Well, that and the fact that I made quite a few mistakes, resulting in no less than three events of the Engine Stall. I am duely ashamed of myself (but we promised not to be harsh to moi in this entry, so I shall save my driving exploits for another day).

And now, we have our Mr. Safety First! Mr. Tester-To-Be! (And he was not-too bad looking, either.) Here're some of the things he tosses out at me to confuse, confound and render me unable to comprehend.
"Have you locked the doors?" (To which The Boyfriend blurted out when told: "You're taught that sorta thing?!")
"Break more, and earlier. Or else your tester may deduct points for stopping too late. (Apparently because my car jerked when I stopped.)"
(And, at the next filter lane:) "You stepped on the break too early."

Plus, he is the only instructor I have come across thus far who practices what he preaches. Maybe it's because, having endured his never-ending torrent of remarks, I watch him intently when he drives. Blind-spot, shifting down-gear at turns, locking the car door, that whole gamut. Really, I have to hand it to that guy. Plus, he keeps me on my toes whenever he's assigned to me, so I think I end up learning more and brushing up more. But I end up really washed-out.