Driving Me Insane

I finally had my first driving ‘lesson’. My instructor was a very matter of fact poker faced fellow, who had his own accelerator, brake and steering wheel--like something out of James Bond--if James Bond drove a tin can. It was very unassumingly fancy and all that, but at one point I didn’t know if he was doing the driving or if I was. That was rather frustrating. Having a control freak (him) and a freak (me) together resulted in a bumpy ride.

I did learn several things though: 1.) one must not gaze adoringly at dogs on sidewalks while driving, 2.) never drive on lanes that have bicycle markings, even if the lane is wide enough to fit a Mac truck, two camels, a stage coach and possibly half my backside 3.) the red light does not mean stop and reflect on the last 30 years of your life 4.)scoping out neighborhoods for new places to live is not appropriate—all eyes must be on the road (and apparently on the side and rear view mirrors as well).

There was a fancy side mirror attached to the car, and the instructor looked at that to see where my eyes were darting. This same type of car is used for the road test, I was warned. I was wondering how he knew I was not looking left, right and then left again. I just get so distracted! I mean there are Labradors on the right, store sale signs on the left, notices on condos for rent in between. What’s a girl to do?

We had some initial hiccups. Out of habit, a couple of times I set off the windshield wipers (as my luck would have it, on the one sunny day we had in Vancouver) instead of the turn signals, which for some reason unnerved the instructor. I really thought at one point I was going to get a time out. When he warmed up to me he admitted (all straight faced) that when he first moved from Hong Kong he made the same mistake.

He also complalined that I was gripping the steering wheel too hard. Well, I was clinging onto that thing for dear life. I was so nervous—the man made me go on the highway right off the bat—which he soon regretted and he is not going to make that mistake next time. I was holding onto it firmly also because I found his steering too distracting as it was affecting where my wheel was going. I was hoping that by grabbing my one, he would be unable to move his!! This devious plan failed spectacularly.

All in all, it was over soon enough and the instructor and I were both nervous wrecks. I think the instructor must be wishing he was charging me more. I felt liberated to be on the road, so much so that I was a little lead footed, something he pointed out in his assessment. I hope the other lessons go well!! Maybe I’ll pick up some extra strength Tylenol for the instructor so he can use it after our next lesson.

As karma would have it, since I drove the instructor insane, pun intended, I was pushed to the brink of madness the next day. The sun broke out again and in a rare moment of motivation, I decided to go for a walk. 

I conveniently waited until it was close to time to get Lanes before making this decision, as then I would have no choice but to ensure the walk was very brief. As I stepped outside, I was flagged down by the prematurely grey haired enthusiastic Mandarin-speaking lady.

Again, she insisted on having a long drawn out conversation with me. She gestured towards the poor relative’s version of the I-pod I had in my hand, my hat and shorts and mimicked power walking. I nodded yes and she beamed and happily reached forward and rubbed my belly enthusiastically, much to my horror. I needed no translators to gather that she meant that I could use the exercise. Great.

Humiliated and infuriated, I pointed in a random direction and waved to indicate I was leaving. As I tried to set off, she pulled me back in towards the building. Who is this lady? Why am I being manhandled? I was a tad annoyed, because I find this woman so exasperating, I would rather exercise than hang out with her. I pointed helplessly at the door, but she didn’t bat an eyelid. She counter pointed instead.

She nodded her dandelion styled head at the mail boxes and stabbed at her watch. I assumed she was asking when the mail arrives, so I lied at held two fingers up. I had no idea when the mail came, I just assumed it was around 2pm. I also knew if I didn’t ‘say’ anything, I’d be stuck there and I’d never be able to get Lanes. I said a silent prayer for the poor employee of Canada Post that this woman was waiting for.

I then made a mad dash out of there and sighed because she was blocking the only entrance to the building. For once I was hoping Lanes would have a tantrum on the way back from school so that I could avoid being trapped in a bizarre conversation with this lady on my way in. I envisioned dashing into the elevator with a flailing Lanes—the perfect excuse not to have a one sided chit chat.

I found myself at the back of the building in my attempt to get Lanes, and I was glad to see a neighbor on the ground floor—a 90 year old sweetheart to whom I had happily shown a shortcut to the supermarket the day before, only to be told by another neighbor that he didn’t know how to get back—I barely slept at night worrying about him. I love dogs and old people and spare no patience for anything in between.

I was having a nice conversation with him, when the Dandelion lady came round the building and started gesturing towards me. I was so glad she didn’t speak English (and that my geriatric friend’s hearing was not so good) because I said ‘oh crap’ as a reflex. I waved and ignored her a little and she went away and proceeded toward the front of the building.

But there she was again!! She quickly came up to me and pointed at some strawberries on the Safeway flyer and was trying to say something about it, which I think meant she was asking me where the nearest Safeway was (or perhaps if I like strawberries?). It was all pointless because she wouldn’t understand a word that was coming out of my mouth.

I mean she is a nice lady and all, but my walk was sabotaged, I might have been late to get Lanes, and I had no idea why she keeps trying to talk to me when I just look flabbergasted most of the time. Strangely though, we do manage to communicate—I don’t understand how, but it just enables the madness.  

I was smiling politely on the outside, but inside, the inner me in cartoon form was pumping my fists in the air screaming ‘why me?’ and was hitting myself in the head with an imaginary saucepan. I wanted to stomp my feet and have a tantrum and run away from her faster than the Road Runner.

The sad thing is that if I had paid attention in my Mandarin class in Sri Lanka, instead of mapping out elaborate lunch plans and arranging my Mentos in order of color, I might have actually made a friend!! I also brilliantly didn’t pack any of my old study guides. But in my defense, the movers came right after I had oral surgery, which wound up being a bigger deal than I anticipated, and I just was on another planet when they came and did their thing.

To my horror, not only did I not send off important items, I had shipped things that didn’t belong to me!! I had put my dresser in the shipment, completely forgetting that my mom’s keys were in them. While she was in Colombo frantically looking for them, they were happily in the middle of the ocean. I realized this mistake when I came out of my post op drug induced stupor, but decided to wait till our plane took off for Canada to call my mom and tell her where her keys were. Needless to say, I heard her scream all the way across the world!!

I have no idea why these things happen to me or how I wind up doing these things to myself. I always trip over my own feet, literally and metaphorically speaking. On that note, I must sign off to get my rest—there are more people waiting to be traumatized by me tomorrow. Will catch up next week…