Summer is here, and all I want to do is get on my bike and head to the pool. Friends have been coming to town to visit. Patios are filling up with cheerful drinkers.
But unfortunately for me, I have a driving test in a couple of days. Instead of getting into summer fun, I have to take advantage of my dad's generosity and practice, practice, practice. For the next few days, you won't see me on any patios. If I'm driving, I have to be sure my blood alcohol level is 0.
I'm really happy to say that my parallel parking is, I think, up to snuff. Backing into a spot is also probably at an 80 per cent success rate. But, and I know this sounds stupid, I'm been having some trouble going forward into a spot ― particularly when I have to take a really wide turn to get into it without hitting a parked car on either side. More often than not, I have to back up and correct my angle before I can ease the car in.
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But my dad has been so helpful, and everyone I know has been really supportive. My friends have been giving me little, helpful bits of advice on the G2 test from their own experiences.
"Remember to turn into the left lane if they make you turn left onto a one-way street. Don't move way over to the right."
"Check your blind spot really obviously so they know you're remembering to do it."
"Don't hit anyone."
What?
My friend Graeme grew up west of Toronto near Caledon. He and his friends all had to take their road tests in Orangeville, and they all had the same examiner: a very serious woman who, they all agreed, had made it a personal mission to fail every teenager in the area. She also had a fairly thick Patois accent, which I guess to his white, middle-class ears, made it difficult for my buddy to read in tone.
Graeme said the test started out fine. But fairly early on, he was asked to make a simple right turn onto a busy street. Traffic was coming quickly from his left, and there were a few pedestrians walking from either side in front of his car. He slowly edged the car forward, checking to the right for pedestrians, and then checking to the left for cars and people on foot. He says he looked right, and it was clear, and looked left, and it was clear, and he slowly started easing into a turn when ―
Thud.
He looked, horrified, through the windshield of the car. A person was standing there, looking at him, with a portion of their torso draped over the hood. He'd hit a pedestrian on his driving test. He hadn't hurt them, they didn't even seem that upset. But he'd definitely hit a pedestrian on his driving test.
Graeme looked over at his examiner, wide-eyed. But as the person he'd bumped brushed themselves off and moved on, his tester didn't blink an eye.
"Go on."
Inexplicably, the test continued. Graeme claims he completed every task with flying colours. He parallel parked without hitting the curb. He turned into the right lanes. He remembered to put the parking brake on each time he parked. He began to feel like maybe he'd pass this thing, despite the unsettling incident from what had probably occurred no more than 15 minutes earlier. These tests are short, after all.
Graeme drove his examiner back to the testing centre, and, according to him, expertly parked the car in the lot. She sat next to him in the passenger seat, and started with some feedback.
"Your parking is pretty good," she said, in her accent. "You may want to fix that angle when you back in though. You were a little crooked." She continued to enumerate a few things he could work on in the future.
"So," he asked. "Did I... pass?"
The woman chuckled.
"No! Of course not, mon," she said. "You hit someone."
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