I suppose the whole driving thing is the best place to mock myself. I revel in telling people how much I hate driving – and they usually revel in telling me that I’m a dumbass and that driving is awesome. Whatever.
So I bought a pretty reasonably-priced car from a man with three Gs in his name (ironically it cost a lot less than 3Gs) and I hit the road for the first time in eight years.
Of course what made the whole thing hilarious is that not only was I driving for the first time in eight years, I was doing so on the opposite side of the car and the opposite side of the road.
Thankfully the task was made easier by the fact that driving an automatic car is about as difficult as blinking (leaving aside those children who look perennially amazed by their surroundings). Seriously it’s like one foot and that’s it. You could chop off your left leg, glue your hands to the steering wheel and it would make no difference at all.
So I had a bit of an adrenalin rush when I started it all off but that pretty much disappeared after one horrendous trip out of my comfort zone one night. All it took was one misjudged lane change (although I’m pretty sure the arsehole behind me sped up when he saw my blinker go on just so he could blow me out of it) and there went my confidence. A week later another gobshite was blowing his horn at me because I dared to slow down as I was turning left just to be sure the junction was clear. He then sped past me roaring some unintelligible American at me. Total cockface.
At the moment I drive as little as possible due to the absolute fear every time I turn the key (fear of the driving part – not a fear of being blown up Goodfellas-style). And what happens tonight? I only avoid being side-swiped by about half a foot by a total arsehead with a personalised number plate (KEELR 10) and some stupid college stickers in his rear window. No signal, only the length of his own car between the car in his lane and my car and he goes for a frickin’ lane change???
Thinking about the event now I would like to think that I pulled up behind him at the light (which was red and 50 feet in front of us), stepped out of my car, found a cigarette from somewhere, lit it, knocked on his window, fixed him a Bruce Willis-stare, dragged on the cigarette (while suppressing the inevitable near-choke) and uttered some one liner like “you just changed his last lane, kid-o”.
The reality is that I didn’t even blow my horn at him. I just sat there being pathetic.
Oh and I didn’t even get to the fact that I ripped my bumper off by pulling up too close to a kerb within the first few days. Seriously, I’m pathetic. Someone hurry up and invent teleporting.