Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Episode 412

(Continued from Episode 411)

So when my friend May told me about her driving instructor, it didn't take me long to call the guy up for some classes. After watching some Bel Ami movies, I was under the impression my driving instructor was tall, dark and handsome, and preferably conducting his classes in a jockstrap. I was disappointed.

John (yes, as in John Doe) hailing from Fragrant Harbour (ie. Hong Kong), is now a full-fledged Canadian citizen. He sports a cap (for safety reasons - so that light doesn't bounce off his shiny pate), mid-40s, short and stout. Very much of a John we all knew. Good humoured and seldom flies into a temper, and keeps talking to his students to keep himself awake.

I knew I was in trouble when he found out that I could speak his native language - and then he started blabbering his instructions in Cantonese. The problem with my Cantonese was that I am only capable of speaking it to two persons in the world - my dad and my mum. If I could complete a whole sentence effortlessly, that would mean pigs could fly. Sensing my incapability in the language department, John tried to speak in Mandarin and English. I told him to stick to Cantonese.

It's fun driving around the streets of Toronto - except when it's raining or snowing ("the sky had cummed!"). I had to reduce my speed to a boring 30-40 km per hour while keeping a lookout for potholes that were concealed by snow. But none of that compares to the nightmare when I'm driving to downtown. Toronto drivers are ruthless when it comes to driving (but still better than the ones in Montreal), they'll cut into your lane when you least expect it, and they'll flip you if you were a kilometre under the regular speed limit (which is 200km/h).

May, her boyfriend William and I once took the car for a spin after we both got our licenses. I have never heard May screamed so much.

"Move faster! You're too slow!" William instructed. "Someone just flipped you!"

"Shaddup shaddup shaddup I'm trying to drive!!!" May screamed.

"Then DRIVE faster!! Now filter to the right lane cos' we're going for the next exit!! Go now! NOW!"

"Shaddup shaddup shaddup I can't filter, that car is so freaking close!!!" May screamed.

"Just go just go, if you never go they'll never let you! NOW, NOW!!!" Meanwhile I was praying to whatever deity that came to my mind.

The number of bad drivers in Toronto may be attributed to the fact that it was extremely easy to pass the driving test. Potential suicide-drivers would have to take a theory test (with the test centre located near Al-Qaeda Avenue), an intermediate circuit-driving test and a final driving test where they will get their G-license. I was briefed thoroughly by John before I embarked on my circuit test. He pointed to the junction ahead ("this is where they will ask you to turn right"), a train-crossing ("this is where they will check if you're looking on both sides") and a dead-end ("this is where you would do your three-point turn, and then your parallel parking, and then your blind-spot test.") John is Circuit God.

Unforutunately, as easy as it sounds - I failed my test, for reasons I don't want to dwell into. I went home sulking and John tried to cheer me up by offering some niceties.

"That means you can still see me for a few more times!" Yeah, I wouldn't mind if the classes are completely free (John charges CAD36.00 (about SGD47.00) for a 1.5 hour session).

My stomach churned when I went for my second helping - because I had a pay a pricely sum to take the test. I recalled my old mistakes and remembered the spots where I'd be asked to make a turn, check the blind spots, do a parallel parking and give the tester a blowjob if he's cute and hunky. I was told that if I couldn't make it by the second test I'll be featured on the Toronto Star and they might also consider submitting my name to the Guiness Book of Records.

And thank (insert deity name here), I've made it. Barely made it. I was about to offer myself as a last resort (because the examiner is just so not hot) but promptly held myself when I was told that I've passed the test. I couldn't stop smiling at John as he approached me after the examiner left the car.

"See your face I know you pass la!" For once John looked friendly.

(to be continued)