At 6.15 this morning, I had my first driving lesson, which, yes, at the tender age of 30, might seem slightly late in life, especially for you pesky American’s. But if you’ve ever lived in Copenhagen, you’ll know that really, a car isn’t the best way of getting around anyway, so why bother?
That was until I saw this little flick called Mad Max. I like dogs. I can get behind Vengeful Vigilantism. Shucks, I think I’ll get myself one of them there drivin’ licenses (licensi?).
It was an interesting experience, not least because it was still dark when we started, and rush-hour had set in when we ended. A friend of mine compared it to playing the drums on a track you’ve never heard before, which seems pretty accurate (crutch-ridin’ since ’08, and proud of it!). Though I’ll add that it’s like that, only you’ve also never played the drums before, and you’re doing it in front of an audience of some 50.000 metal fans.
It was a little tense.
But I didn’t cap any cyclists, bump into any cars or accidentally run over any pedestrians (whom I then subsequently sped away from, paying the instructor generously to overlook this minor accident, stopping at a gas station to wipe the blood off the hood, all the while grinning nervously and explaining to passerby’s how the ketchup truck had spilled its load on my hood).
So that was great.
They all look so frail from the inside of the metal monstrum. Those poor meatbags, their meat so tender and their lives hanging capriciously in the balance as I go from one to the other ‘not that one, not that one, not… no, not that one either… That one is good, I’ll take him!’.
Well, I’m not actually scared of driving. But it is pretty stressful finding yourself suddenly behind the wheels of a car in heavy traffic for the first time, thinking to yourself that the car is apt to run amok, Christine-style, with you powerless to stop it. But then you turn the key, and it mostly does what it’s told after that.
Next week I’ve got 5 hour and a half lessons, so be careful.