Confession Four: I am the “World’s Best Driver” – Feel free to give me a gallon of milk

I am not sure what is going on, but I am confident I am the only one in my greater county who took some sort of safe driver’s course as a 16-year-old and managed to retain any little bit of knowledge from that time. (Note: This is quite impressive because there was a lacrosse player who just might have had a cute smile, curly hair and a SWEET Jeep waiting for him once he was legal to cruise in it. Being the high school-era, we IMed often. I was in heaven.)

Before I wax poetically about my perfect NASCAR-driver like skill we might want to first recap my impeccable driving record just for the sake of those who are going to bring it up anyway - I am not ashamed of a few faux pass because even the BEST NASCAR-drivers find themselves in the walls in the midst of a race or two …

16-years-old, November – I was trying to back my cute little convertible out of my parental unit’s garage, hit a bit of ice which made my tires spin and ultimately introduced the side of the car into the side of the garage; apparently the garage had commitment issues and the two were not ready for a relationship ...

Total damage: My power steering was shot, there were a few dents in the car, and I just might have detached some of the frame work from the garage door. Oh and I had to wake my parents up from their slumber, confess what had happened, and the boyfriend was late for curfew. Though he laughed at me and got into a bit of trouble we continued to date for a few more months.

20-years-old, Summertime – I was late for work (it was the first time ever, I promise) and in misjudging the lines on the ground, some how managed to wedge myself next to a concrete poll as I tried to throw it into park.

This would now mark car number two that I managed to dent in four-years.

Total damage: I walked into the Gap, crying and had to hang out at the markdown on the baby wall until my mom got there. Luckily, being on the Baby Gap side, my sobbing was subsided by all the small children who were throwing temper tantrums. Thank God for not having any lollipops with me that day.

Since then I can’t remember any other major accidents, though my parents may have a different opinion. And I might have gotten a few (read: under 10 in less than five states) speeding tickets since first getting that liberating plastic ID but, as of this week I am still the greatest driver in the world.

Reason One: “Hey. James Bond, in American we drive on the right side of the road.”
Upon entering the my apartment complex there is a series of speed bumps, yet whoever the genius was that originally fashioned said speed bumps dissolved one side into the sidewalk and allowed the rest of the speed bump to slope gradually upward. Geometry must not have been a required class at their high school.

Because of this ‘speed slope’, most people, regardless if they are entering or leaving the property, will try to avoid bottoming out on the half hill and gravitate toward the lower side. I have no issues with this practice and have probably done it once or twice myself, yet the real problem comes to a screeching halt when someone does this and there is oncoming traffic! I wish I was joking, but I almost had a head on collision today because I was driving on the correct side of the road down the driveway. Not only did the person take the lower side of the final speed bump, but they then continued on their merry way … in my lane! Maybe it is just me, but if I am in some small car and I see a truck coming at me I am going to dive into my own regulated traffic space. Nope, not these people. After playing chicken (I lost), they proceeded to call me names – and they were not cutesy ones like Darling, Sweetie, or Honey Pie. As a matter of fact, there was a string of syllables that were quite indistinguishable and I was a bit confused when lightening bolts did not immediately fall from the sky.

Reason Two: How darn hard is it to wave a flag?

A couple miles worth of construction has been taking place in front of my work place for the last week or so. As a Pittsburgh native seeing a flagger in a neon yellow vest does nothing for me. I understand there is an ebb and flow to driving in construction, one side moves, then my side is allowed to move. There is no rocket science involved, just two people, reliving the 80’s color wheel, donning hardhats and steeltoed shoes, turning their wrists and getting a tan. … unless you are one of the workers in my town. This morning, hours before Austin Powers left my apt. complex, Captain Intelligent did not look twice before waving me along, and became frantically confused when I did not put my car into first gear and slowly proceed. Had she looked over her opposite shoulder she would have seen the large steel animal, also known as a CAR, coming at her in the single operational lane.

Also seen from this construction site, a man, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, a cell phone to his ear … WHILE DRIVING A BACK HOE! What is going on here?

In the event that I miss a day of posting, please assume that I have fallen victim to those who wear the construction helmets and look for me somewhere outside of work … or in the yard of the idiots who live at the entrance to my complex; they not only seemed to have been spawned from the shallow end of the gene pool, but they also reside at the shorter side of the speed bump.