Driving me crazy: DMV saga, part 2
As shamefacedly reported here some weeks ago, I was stopped and given a ticket for driving with an expired license. After about half a dozen visits to the Department of Motor Vehicles in Riverhead, during which I was forced to produce every known proof of identity short of a DNA sample, photographed twice, had my eyes tested twice and passed a cunning multiple choice test, I’m now nearing the end of the re-licensing process. At least, I hope so. I’m scheduled to take a road test, the final act of abject compliance, in Riverhead on Friday.
This is not necessarily a piece of cake. Although I’ve been driving since Nixon was in office, there’s a distinct possibility that I could fail the test. Evidently, it doesn’t take much. At the mandatory five-hour class (also in Riverhead, at night) the instructor told the story of a man who’d somehow lost his license after driving for 40 years or more. During his re-licensing road test, he was passing a flock of chickens standing on the side of the road, when one ran out in front of the car. He jammed on the brakes and earned himself an automatic failure. “Failed to anticipate the actions of a fowl,” wrote the examiner.
Desperately wanting to avoid such fowl-ups, and especially additional trips to Riverhead, I’ve been boning up on the road test tips offered on-line. Nothing about chickens in there, but, among other interesting facts, I find that one may still, in the year 2010, be asked to use hand signals during the test. If you’re younger than 90 or so, you may never have actually seen anyone give a hand signal while driving, but it involves sticking your arm out of the window, a good way to lose it pretty much anywhere in America, and maybe faster in Riverhead than in most other places. There is also a recommendation to “use your horn at appropriate times” which, as everyone knows, can easily get you shot.
There are, in fact, plenty of ways to meet an untimely end by following America’s curiously outmoded driving regulations. Take the 55-mph speed limit. Doing 55 on any highway — the Long Island Expressway is a good one — will get you rear-ended in short order. People routinely do 80, 90, 100 miles an hour or more on the LIE. Try doing 55 on it sometime when you’re feeling brave and they’ll pass you like you were standing still. Yet, it’s the law, posted with a straight face.
And certainly, if Americans all drove at 55 or below, there’d be far less carnage on the highways. But, on the German autobahn, where there isn’t any speed limit at all — keine geschwindigkeitsbegrezung, danke — there are hardly ever any accidents. Makes you wonder.
In Europe, new drivers must spend many hours not just learning how to operate a car, but about how one works. They learn all kinds of useful, practical things, while Americans instead get browbeaten with Mickey Mouse regulations. “I’m sorry, sir, but your credit card and your checks are from the same bank, so they’re only worth one point. You wouldn’t happen to have an Akwesasne Mohawk tribe photo ID, would you?”
But back to the road test. There are a couple of cute little trick regulations you have to watch out for. Here’s one you’d probably never think of on your own. When you have a permit, you can drive, accompanied by a licensed driver, anywhere you like — except in a road test area. This includes practicing beforehand, as well as arriving to take the test. If you drive yourself to the appointment site, even with 10 other licensed drivers in the car, and get spotted behind the wheel, it’s an automatic failure. This means that Rebeca and I will have to stop somewhere short of Riverhead’s Polish Town on Friday morning and do what they used to call a Chinese fire drill. If that’s not enough to tick her off, they’re probably going to make her get out of the car and stand around while I’m taking the test. Please, God, don’t let it be raining.
You may have noticed a short letter in a recent issue from the legendary pop culture chronicler, Nik Cohn (the inspiration for the movie “Saturday Night Fever,” the Who’s rock opera, “Tommy,” and author of a number of memorable books) praising, of all things, my writing. Coming from him, this was the highest honor I ever expect to get. As Oliver Hardy used to say, “One good turn deserves another,” so this column is dedicated to Nik, who, by the way, doesn’t drive.