My Driver's Test

As one of the youngest of all of my friends (I didn't turn 16 until May of my sophomore year of high school) the anticipation of my drivers test had been bubbling in my stomach for months on end. That fateful day will be etched in my memory forever. On May 18, 2005, I woke up at 6:00 a.m. in my pitch black room nervously awaiting the pivotal moment in which my teenage hopes would transform into one of two things-- blissful reality or shattered glass. Everything leading up to that moment zipped through my head. The nerve racking "practice" driving with my mom in which she would dramatically grab onto anything stable in the car, solving the mystery of the art of parallel parking with my dad, and mastering those illusive and quite awkward lane changes. After primping in my bathroom (Of course, I needed to look good for my drivers test!), I made my way to the kitchen and ate the miniscule amount of breakfast that my jittery stomach could handle. The next thing I knew, a black sedan pulled in my driveway and honked several times, signaling the driving instructor's arrival. I took to the driver's seat and we drove to the Department of Public Service building in Edmond, Oklahoma. 

The DPS building might have been the most depressing environment I've ever experienced. A musty smell consumed the room and the walls were painted a drab gray. Once I had filled out the tedious paperwork, I left the gloomy DPS building for the car that would determine my fate as a driver. In my narrow 16-year-old point of view, this was my defining moment. Moments before the test began, I almost told the instructor that I needed to leave to throw up. The pressure was building and I was psyching myself out. "Pull it together," I chastised myself. My hand crept onto the gear shift (I'm not really sure what the proper name for it is!) and I thrust into drive. I backed out of the parking lot successfully  and performed the commands that the robotic instructor gave me. In my mind, the actual test is a messy blur that I do not remember vividly. I do remember the instructor writing my final evaluation, his pen rapidly scratching against the evaluation form. I must admit, there was an abundance of red ink. Fortunately, I barely passed the test, scoring a 79 percent. My fate was sealed--I was officially a legal driver. No longer would I be subject to the pain of having my mom drive me around. The ironic thing is, now that I have been driving for four years I constantly beg my mom to cart me around like a 15-year-old.