How I would love to blame this on someone else. But that shithouse choke yesterday at the exam was 100% Mistress La Spliffe, and now my mighty organs of indignation and anger must be turned against myself. I can't blame the examiner; he was clear, reassuring, and friendly; I can't blame my instructor, who taught me how to drive well enough that I did everything else perfectly - painfully perfectly; I can't blame Belgium, because while it's given me innumerable examples of drivers doing exactly what I did to fuck up the exam yesterday, that has translated into innumerable opportunities for me to curse Belgians for their dangerous stupidity - there was certainly no pressure to emulate it.
It really hurts to have managed the parallel parking, the three point turn, the following the flow of traffic, the signalling, the left turning, the braking smoothly and safely in time to avoid mowing down a family of geese ambling across the road without risking getting rear-ended, and all the other things that had me shitting myself, just to fuck up in this new, dramatic, dangerous, and fucking mentally debile way that I never did during my lessons or practice sessions. But what it is informing me is that despite my finesse behind the wheel and my reasonably good impression of calm, competent driving, if I'm happy to tool out on a roundabout without judging my distances properly at my fucking exam like a fucking retard, I'm not ready to drive on the roads unaccompanied yet, and that's all there is to it.
Well, not quite all. Here's the thing: I know how to drive now, and have even mastered the roundabout - I never would have driven on and cut somebody off on a roundabout if I hadn't been having a massive brainfart; I'm aware of the fucking laws of priority, painfully so, because they're so counter-intuitive from a Canadian perspective, as we don't have roundabouts and every intersection is adequately signposted so we don't have to fart around with the massive trust exercise which is Rightwards Priority. So the worry is that what's making me unfit to drive isn't my driving skills per se, but my inadequate brain, and that's worrying because while one can improve their skills, it's a different proposition altogether to improve one's brain.
So in punishment but also in an effort to help myself, I'm cutting off the reefer. No more reefer for me. Not until I've got that fucking dimestore salmon foldy piece of shit these Belgian stone-age nincompoops call a full fucking B-class license. I've already been cutting down but now I'm cutting out. Even when I go to Amsterdam at the end of the F-word's school term. I will go to Amsterdam and I will not smoke or eat reefer. I will watch David Attenborough ocean documentaries and I will not be high while I do it. I realize that makes my blogonym a little non au courant, so in the meantime you may address me as the Dread Pirate Jessica.
2 commenti:
Dread Pirate Jessica,
face it. it is the whole concept of the roundabout, and not you, that is mentally debile.
i don't care if they are statistically safer, they are a holdover from a primitive pre-automotive society, and have no place in the future.
you are too evolved for roundabouts.
signed,
your marijuana Id.
ps - don't abandon me!
It's sweet of you to say so, Baywatch, and as soon as I get that fucker of a license and can be quite sure I'm not sour-graping, I'll probably agree.
For the moment, I'll go so far as to say I find the general system here dangerously irresponsible. I know you've recently had an unpleasant run-in with the po-po, but I can't help but feel it's better than here, where it's no signs, priority from the right, every man for himself, a few speed cameras and no supervision.
I've never seen cops do anything about traffic here, even when drivers commit shockingly blatant infractions right under their noses. That's how in Canada and the States you can get let off with such easy exams: if you drive like a moron the cops will get you. Here, you can weave through the lanes drunk as Darwin on a stat holiday and nobody will bat an eyelid.
In fact an acquaintance of ours got loaded, totalled his car in one of the busy downtown tunnels, got his (miraculously unhurt) passengers out, called the cops, waited . . . and didn't even get breathalyzed. No trubs. Insurance settled without a murmur and he got a lovely new car.
PS: I'll be shocked if the self-denial lasts, and even if it does, it's only until July. Hopefully . . .
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