My Maiden Journey (Was Almost My Last)

I actually passed that driving test. Finally, finally!!

But only by the skin of my teeth. I'd made a wide turning and veered off course, all the time unaware of my mistakes, and, during the last lane-change before we went back into the driving school, I had to go and make a sharp turn.

Then again, who cares? I passed! No more boring, 100-minute lessons, taking instructions from a man whom you are at the mercy of. No more driving in the circuit, along with a hundred other cars, waiting my turn for use of the directional change lane, the vertical parking lot, the parallel parking lot, darned slope 11... Yippee-doo-da.

Not being able to contain my excitement anymore, I went straight to the nearest petrol station and got myslf the ugly, but totally necessary, 'P' Plate. (And was a little embarrassed when the friendly lady behind the counter asked me if I was paying for any petrol.) And who cares if it cost me an absurd $11.90? I would drive at the earliest possible opportunity!

Predictably of course, driving isn't all I thought it'll be cut out to be. My first time behind the wheel, the layout of its continental interior threw me off a little. When I wanted to turn left, the wind-shield wiper sprang to life instead. Alright, some minor adjustments to make. I also had to practically unlearn what the good people at the driving centre were trying to hard to ingrain into me: check your blindspot before you change lane, when stopping, make sure you can see the rear wheels of the car behind you, etc etc etc. But my dad was all: you don't have to signal, go faster, go faster, go faster... it was a little unnerving, really.

And I almost got myself, him, and my sister killed. Three times over. This happened when my dad decided I was ready for the big league: Expressways. Before that, he supervised while I picked my gramma and aunt up to go to my place, and I guess then I did okay. This time, for an errand we had to run, I was going to drive from my home in the south, take the PIE, and end up all the way in Bukit Batok.

The journey there was alright, up until the point where we missed the turn to the building, and I had to make a three-point turn. Then, as I inched out, ever so slowly - POHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! - a big, huge, no, gargantuan truck, those types which carry soil from this construction site to that construction site, went whizzing past us, missing my side by a hair's breadth.

Oh. God. That's the end, I thought.

I'd never be able to drive dad's car again.

Thankfully, however, that did not become a reality. After buying what we went there to buy, dad went to the passenger's seat again, and I got my chance to redeem myself.

Alright, I told myself, better make sure you make no more mistakes.

But yes, dear reader, that was only the first of the three times I almost got us killed.

The second time was when my car was heading out towards merging with the fast-moving traffic on the PIE. I was so nervous about making the transition smoothly that I kept my eyes on the side-mirror so freaking long, by the time they returned to the road the car had veered dangerously close to the curb on the right. I was travelling on the double yellow lines, dammit!

And before I could properly collect myself from that old habit that dogged me from my driving school days - now, it wasn't that long ago, was it? Yes, it was YESTERDAY that I'd graduated - came Whammy Number 3. Being in the slowest-moving lane, for bulky, ugly vehicles like pick-up trucks and the two huge trucks that were crawling along ahead of me, I had no choice but to change lanes. Zoom, zooom, zoom, went the cars as I tried my best to find a spot to move in.

And I did, finally - the next car coming up was more than 70 metres away - and I inched out, signal light clicking away - oh no, wait, it's more like 50 metres away. And it's blaring its horn at me. Really fiercely.

"Oh no!" I said, my voice going all high-pitched. "It's coming!"

And that's when my dad took over, and, grabbing the wheel, steered me back into the lane I was moving out of. Back behind the two crawling trucks. Man, was a glad to be behind crawling trucks. And man, was I glad there was no speeding car behind of me. (Or worse, a bike.)

"You're lucky you passed ah! I would have failed you!" My dad decreed. Yes, indeed-y. The verdict was out: Ms Molly Coddle is presently too mollycoddled (and wet behind the ears) (and pants) for highways.