I had to take my car in for some maintenance earlier this week. (Not the suburban kid hauler, I already took that one in a few months ago, this time it was the car that I usually drive to work, a 2005 Toyota Camry that we bought used about four years ago and which has been remarkably reliable since, despite the fact that I rear-ended it squarely with another car the very next morning after finally getting my driver's license.) I had a flat back tire after rolling over some kind of screw, and while one would think that changing out a flat tire and putting on a spare would be the end of it, apparently I still had to take the car in to get a real tire on (the spare is not a real tire? Why?), replacing the spare in my trunk, and getting the wheels realigned.
This is exactly what I told the car people to do, but for some reason they took the liberty of hooking my car up to the FREE 27 POINT DIAGNOSTIC ROBOT (note: I did not ask for the robot) and shortly thereafter came into the waiting room with the lugubrious mien of someone about to inform me that my car had rectal cancer. Because apparently my car also had a (something something) leak, which was important because the (something) fed water to cool the engine (something something), not to mention that the (something) was missing four (somethings) requiring the whole works to be replaced, not to mention that steering (something) was totally jacked up and in sum, my car was destined to explode into a thousand fiery pieces unless I shelled out $3,500 to get all that stuff fixed.
THREE THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED AMERICAN DOLLARS.
Leave aside the fact that I just came in to get my tire changed. Also leave aside the fact that we bought this car used (though in excellent shape), so the total of the repairs proposed was more than a third of the price we paid for the car itself. Finally, apologies for the totally hackneyed "girls don't know nothing about cars" routine that I am personifying here--lots of ladies know a lot of stuff about cars, including how to change their own flat tires, but please forgive my stereotypical hand-fluttering in the face of impending automotive maintenance because I really, really know nothing about cars, INCLUDING HOW TO DRIVE ONE until about four years ago.
The mechanic left me with the price quote in that I'll let you have a minute to compose yourself way, saying that if I wanted to get everything fixed I would probably need a loaner to drive home so he would go ahead and get that for me. (He then added, with a tone of infinite largesse, that the loaner would be provided to me free of charge.) After unfreezing myself, I went to chase after the guy, because given that I had detected absolutely no problems with the driving and reliability of the car aside from, you know, the flat tire for which I came in, so barring any immediate safety concerns I would at least like some time to look over the diagnostic report and get a quote from a second car repair company.
Ten minutes later, he returned with the loaner. I told him that I'd like to hold off on repairs until we could get a second opinion. He looked at me for a beat, then called to the back workshop, where I assume my car was being fed through an MRI. "Yeah, the customer wants to hold off on the repairs. Uh huh. Oh. Really? Wow. Did you already...oh. OK." He turned to me. "They already started working on it. They took the water pump off the (something something) already."
"Already? Can they...you know, put it back?" More phone conferrals. The mechanic then told me that they could indeed put it back, but that I was lucky because they hadn't taken the (something) off the (something) yet, because (something something) antifreeze everywhere!
"I would like my car back please."
Any hour later, it was returned to me, with the new tire, which was the only thing I wanted changed in the first place. The following morning, Joe took the car to a AAA down the street from us, where they hooked the car up to a FREE 36 POINT DIAGNOSTIC ROBOT--nine more points than the other robot!--and found very little wrong with the car at all. (Joe brought the service list and the quote from the first place so he would know what to ask them to check extra carefully.) They replaced some of the missing (something somethings--like some kind of a bolt) and swapped out another (something that was dirty), but in all the bill totalled $500, which, while still a lot for a car that I wasn't intending to have serviced at all, is a far cry from the $3,500 that I was originally quoted.
And now here's the question for you. How much of it was bad luck of the draw at that first car place, and how much of it do you think is the fact that I (know-nothing-about-cars lady) took the car in to the first place, and Joe (know-little-about-cars-but-looks-like-he-does man) took the car in to the second place? Unfortunate happenstance, opportunism, or a little of both?
(Aside re: the post title. I love NPR as much as the next PBS-pledge-drive-canvas-tote-lugging-to-the-farmer's-market liberal, but there are two shows that I could never, ever get behind despite the fact that everyone else loves them dearly. One is "Car Talk." Those braying Boston accents! Why not just sharpen a pencil in my ear? And the second is "A Prairie Home Companion." Not only is it aggressively folksy, but it actually isn't funny at all, and you get the sense that the people in the audience will just laugh at anything just to show each other how cultured and good-humored they are. Bah!)
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label driving. Show all posts
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Saturday, May 05, 2012
better than a maxi van, I suppose
So! I guess we bought a minivan!
I would post a picture but I'm not really sure what it looks like yet--and yes, that's precisely how much interest I have in cars. I do know what kind of car it is, though. It's a Toyota Sienna. Which is a kind of minivan car. Joe and I very briefly went to both a Toyota and a Honda dealership during our date night while Joe's parents were watching the kids (because the only thing I can imagine more nightmarish than bringing your kids to a car dealership is maybe bringing your kids to Ikea when those kids refuse to be left in Smölville or whatever the hell that Ikea kids' penitentiary is called). Honestly, they're very similar cars, but we kinda liked the Sienna slightly better.
Anyway, I found a good deal online for below the MSRP with good financing options blah blah blah financial talk and Joe had an early afternoon off while I was on call and I told him to just go get the damn car because it's not exactly like I wanted to spend a weekend myself in some car dealership back office arguing with Jerry Lundergaard about not getting that Truecoat and fine, he'll do a damn lot count, what the Christ! So Joe did. Get the car, I mean. The reason we don't have it in the driveway yet is because we decided to listen to everyone on the planet and get the leather seats after all (I always thought of them as some sort of unnecessary luxury option, like a seat warmer, until the cleaning benefits were pointed out to me) and the leather seats take about a week and a half to put on.
I think the car is grey, with a beige inside. That's...about as much as I know. Whatever, Joe saw it. I'm sure it's fine.
So! Minivans!
I like to think that we're generally financially cautious. For example we decided, after some consideration, that we probably shouldn't get a new car and have a baby and landscape the backyard at around the same time, so the backyard improvements are shelved until at least next year. Which is fine. I mean, it would be nice to have a swingset upon which evict the kids from the house, but what the hell, indoors is nice too. All the better to develop osteomalacia, kids. Now do like on "Mad Men" and go watch TV.
That said, on the way home from Hilton Head I made a declaration. (I do that sometimes.) I declared that we should live frugally in so much as it was possible, but that also, we should try to take trips together as a family as much as we were able. They don't have to be big trips or expensive trips--I'm not talking about flying us all to Rome or anything. But just little day trips. Weekend trips. Stuff like when we went camping last fall, or when we lived in New York and used to go to that pick-your-own-fruit farm. Just time away, all together, making memories, on purpose. Spring Break was great but since we've been back, I've really noticed how little time we're all able to spend together, and how much, during the course of a normal week when the kids are going to school and Joe and I are at work, that time together is purely process-driven. It's all: rush home, get dinner into gullets, homework, bath, snack, bedtime. The weeks blend together. And they go too fast.
So on the spur of the moment, Joe and I decided that, instead of staying around town for Memorial Day weekend (which was the original plan--and I'm sure if we did the weekend would have been consumed purely by errands and minutiae) we were going to take a small trip, a family trip, and spend time together as a family of four (well, five--we're bringing the dog) before we expand our ranks. Kind of a babymoon for all of us.
Therefore, we decided to rent a cottage in North Georgia--a little short notice, most of the cottages were already booked up because most people are smarter and think ahead--but we found one that's close enough and not too expensive and folksy looking as all hell. I think it's across from a cornfield, actually. Also I think there's some sort of fishing creek right nearby not to mention a fire pit outside the house, and what the hell, your kids are only young once. I think they're going to love it.
It's funny, because I've been kind of stressed out about all manner of things for the past few weeks--just about all the usual, like time and money and kids and job stuff--but now that we have a little something planned, I feel a lot better. It's nice to have something to look forward to, with people that you like.
And since we'll have a minivan by then, think of all the crap we'll be able to bring with us!
How about you guys? What small do you like to do for quality time with your families, and what bigger things are worth the splurge?
I would post a picture but I'm not really sure what it looks like yet--and yes, that's precisely how much interest I have in cars. I do know what kind of car it is, though. It's a Toyota Sienna. Which is a kind of minivan car. Joe and I very briefly went to both a Toyota and a Honda dealership during our date night while Joe's parents were watching the kids (because the only thing I can imagine more nightmarish than bringing your kids to a car dealership is maybe bringing your kids to Ikea when those kids refuse to be left in Smölville or whatever the hell that Ikea kids' penitentiary is called). Honestly, they're very similar cars, but we kinda liked the Sienna slightly better.
Anyway, I found a good deal online for below the MSRP with good financing options blah blah blah financial talk and Joe had an early afternoon off while I was on call and I told him to just go get the damn car because it's not exactly like I wanted to spend a weekend myself in some car dealership back office arguing with Jerry Lundergaard about not getting that Truecoat and fine, he'll do a damn lot count, what the Christ! So Joe did. Get the car, I mean. The reason we don't have it in the driveway yet is because we decided to listen to everyone on the planet and get the leather seats after all (I always thought of them as some sort of unnecessary luxury option, like a seat warmer, until the cleaning benefits were pointed out to me) and the leather seats take about a week and a half to put on.
I think the car is grey, with a beige inside. That's...about as much as I know. Whatever, Joe saw it. I'm sure it's fine.
So! Minivans!
* * *
I like to think that we're generally financially cautious. For example we decided, after some consideration, that we probably shouldn't get a new car and have a baby and landscape the backyard at around the same time, so the backyard improvements are shelved until at least next year. Which is fine. I mean, it would be nice to have a swingset upon which evict the kids from the house, but what the hell, indoors is nice too. All the better to develop osteomalacia, kids. Now do like on "Mad Men" and go watch TV.
That said, on the way home from Hilton Head I made a declaration. (I do that sometimes.) I declared that we should live frugally in so much as it was possible, but that also, we should try to take trips together as a family as much as we were able. They don't have to be big trips or expensive trips--I'm not talking about flying us all to Rome or anything. But just little day trips. Weekend trips. Stuff like when we went camping last fall, or when we lived in New York and used to go to that pick-your-own-fruit farm. Just time away, all together, making memories, on purpose. Spring Break was great but since we've been back, I've really noticed how little time we're all able to spend together, and how much, during the course of a normal week when the kids are going to school and Joe and I are at work, that time together is purely process-driven. It's all: rush home, get dinner into gullets, homework, bath, snack, bedtime. The weeks blend together. And they go too fast.
So on the spur of the moment, Joe and I decided that, instead of staying around town for Memorial Day weekend (which was the original plan--and I'm sure if we did the weekend would have been consumed purely by errands and minutiae) we were going to take a small trip, a family trip, and spend time together as a family of four (well, five--we're bringing the dog) before we expand our ranks. Kind of a babymoon for all of us.
Therefore, we decided to rent a cottage in North Georgia--a little short notice, most of the cottages were already booked up because most people are smarter and think ahead--but we found one that's close enough and not too expensive and folksy looking as all hell. I think it's across from a cornfield, actually. Also I think there's some sort of fishing creek right nearby not to mention a fire pit outside the house, and what the hell, your kids are only young once. I think they're going to love it.
It's funny, because I've been kind of stressed out about all manner of things for the past few weeks--just about all the usual, like time and money and kids and job stuff--but now that we have a little something planned, I feel a lot better. It's nice to have something to look forward to, with people that you like.
And since we'll have a minivan by then, think of all the crap we'll be able to bring with us!
How about you guys? What small do you like to do for quality time with your families, and what bigger things are worth the splurge?
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
hauling ass
One thing that did not totally occur to me until Joe pointed it out was that crossing the threshold into the three-kid arena meant that we would need to get a bigger car. Serendipitously, the lease on Joe's current car (a Honda Fit--which is a fine, and more importantly inexpensive car, though likely one of the smallest four-door cars on the market) runs out in July, so we should be all set to trade up for some sort of three-rowed conveyance device, likely a minivan.
Having grown up in Manhattan well away from car culture, I have no particular prejudice against getting a minivan--I have heard the arguments before about how uncool minivans are, but in my mind, ALL cars are uncool, so really for us it purely comes down to a functionality issue. Also, let's remember that I'm already uncool, so it's not like the car I drive is going to change that. (Obnoxious penis-substitute car drivers, take note!) Anyway, the most likely finalists are the Toyota Sienna versus the Honda Odyssey--we're leaning towards the Toyota because it's somewhat cheaper--but if anyone has any particular recommendations on a seven-to-eight-seater car, please feel free to recommend or dissuade. Whatever the brand, we will likely get one of the lowest trim packages (meaning no DVD players, no navigation, no leather seats, no flux capacitor), so fancy features are not a concern. The only add-on that Joe thinks we should likely get is some sort of "backing up" camera, mostly because I am, uh, not a good driver, and he wants to make sure I don't run over anything vital, like our mailbox, or a mailbox-shaped human.
(Of course I have been reading online car reviews and consumer report guides, but I have noticed one thing in the minivan guides in that after you read many of them in a row, you realize how many of them are jarringly anti-kid. One example from Motor Trend magazine: "...since children and their Cheetos-encrusted boogers are the target audience, perhaps a really nice interior doesn't mean a whole lot in this segment." In minivan reviews, apparently, there are lots of "jokes" like that, mostly related to how disgusting and annoying multiple children are. You could well make a drinking game out of it. Drink every time a review mentions crushed Cheerios messing up the backseat. Drink every time a review talks about the DVD players quieting your squalling hellions. Drink every time a review talks about how multiple kids are the death of cool, and how the utilitarian suburban drudge cart is now your cross to bear. I GET IT, CAR MAGAZINE, YOU HATE KIDS.)
* * *
19 weeks. Look, a different shirt!
I know that externally, it seems like kind of a gradual progression, but let me assure you that it sure doesn't feel that way. Look, just think of this week-by-week photo project (granted, more for personal archival purposes than anything else) as the most boring flip-book ever. Anyway, the fundus is just below the umbilicus that this point, and I can tell we're moving along because the umbilical port scar from my old med school lap appy is actually visible now. THINGS ARE EVERTING. Sorry, was that gross? Well, take it from a doctor, that's how the human body is, kids. Gross. Gross but functional. Like a minivan.
(And that's what we call "coming full-circle.")
Having grown up in Manhattan well away from car culture, I have no particular prejudice against getting a minivan--I have heard the arguments before about how uncool minivans are, but in my mind, ALL cars are uncool, so really for us it purely comes down to a functionality issue. Also, let's remember that I'm already uncool, so it's not like the car I drive is going to change that. (Obnoxious penis-substitute car drivers, take note!) Anyway, the most likely finalists are the Toyota Sienna versus the Honda Odyssey--we're leaning towards the Toyota because it's somewhat cheaper--but if anyone has any particular recommendations on a seven-to-eight-seater car, please feel free to recommend or dissuade. Whatever the brand, we will likely get one of the lowest trim packages (meaning no DVD players, no navigation, no leather seats, no flux capacitor), so fancy features are not a concern. The only add-on that Joe thinks we should likely get is some sort of "backing up" camera, mostly because I am, uh, not a good driver, and he wants to make sure I don't run over anything vital, like our mailbox, or a mailbox-shaped human.
(Of course I have been reading online car reviews and consumer report guides, but I have noticed one thing in the minivan guides in that after you read many of them in a row, you realize how many of them are jarringly anti-kid. One example from Motor Trend magazine: "...since children and their Cheetos-encrusted boogers are the target audience, perhaps a really nice interior doesn't mean a whole lot in this segment." In minivan reviews, apparently, there are lots of "jokes" like that, mostly related to how disgusting and annoying multiple children are. You could well make a drinking game out of it. Drink every time a review mentions crushed Cheerios messing up the backseat. Drink every time a review talks about the DVD players quieting your squalling hellions. Drink every time a review talks about how multiple kids are the death of cool, and how the utilitarian suburban drudge cart is now your cross to bear. I GET IT, CAR MAGAZINE, YOU HATE KIDS.)
* * *
19 weeks. Look, a different shirt!
I know that externally, it seems like kind of a gradual progression, but let me assure you that it sure doesn't feel that way. Look, just think of this week-by-week photo project (granted, more for personal archival purposes than anything else) as the most boring flip-book ever. Anyway, the fundus is just below the umbilicus that this point, and I can tell we're moving along because the umbilical port scar from my old med school lap appy is actually visible now. THINGS ARE EVERTING. Sorry, was that gross? Well, take it from a doctor, that's how the human body is, kids. Gross. Gross but functional. Like a minivan.
(And that's what we call "coming full-circle.")
Thursday, September 29, 2011
second opinion
Yesterday after I gave my Grand Rounds (which went well by the way, at least to the extent of my experience giving it), I was in a good mood and celebrated by taking my car to the fixit shop. Well, actually, the second thing had nothing to do with the first, it just sounds more festive that way.
All the important mechanics were fine (you know, like the wheels, the engine, the other...drive...pistons), but there was something wrong with my trunk. To be clear, the trunk was working JUST FINE up until we went camping last weekend, when:
The trunk could no longer be opened by the car key itself, nor by pulling the lever in the driver footwell, though oddly, the remote control keychain button still worked. I didn't think this was a big deal at all--usually I open it with the remote anyway--but Joe pointed out that if we ever lost the keychain or it malfunctioned, we would be toast.
"OK, so I'll stop locking the kids in the trunk then," I responded (I thought) quite reasonably.
Joe made me take the car in anyway.
The car fixit place (I just took this one picture there of the pretty rust pattern, though I realize this photo makes it look like a vehicular internment camp--not that far off, I guess) told me that I should expect to leave my car there for at least the rest of the day. They would most likely have to dismantle the whole trunk, replace the lock apparatus en bloc if (IF, they emphasized portentously) they could locate the correct parts, a process that might take a day or two. When I balked at the day or two (or two? Two days? TWO EARTH DAYS?) they replied that they would make their best effort to at least have the car in drivable condition by nightfall, though under no circumstances (they underlined this with an eye-roll, to illustrate how crazy this would be) should I expect the trunk situation to be anywhere near fully resolved without another one or two visits for full repairs down the road.
Anyway, I thanked them for their opinion and diagnostic time, and proceeded to take my car to a Toyota dealership across town. (Not to ruin your fancy doctor car dreams, but I drive a used Toyota Camary with a sizeable dent on the rear drivers side. If you see me on the road, say hi, I'll be the one gripping the steering wheel in panic.) At the dealership, the guy looked at my trunk for two seconds, clicked something over in the lock mechanism, and said, "There. You're good to go."
Apparently we (Joe) had automatically engaged the trunk into "valet mode," which I wasn't aware existed but I guess is what you do if you are getting your car valet parked but don't want the parking people to look into your trunk and see you stash of dead bodies or whatnot in there. The trunk wasn't broken at all. It was such a no-brainer the people at the Toyota place didn't even charge me.
So from a multi-day, labor-intensive, thousand-dollar estimate to a problem that was fixed with a seasoned eye, some common sense, and a flick of a switch. I guess this would be a good time to draw an analogy back to patient care, but I think you can probably take those last few steps on your own.
All the important mechanics were fine (you know, like the wheels, the engine, the other...drive...pistons), but there was something wrong with my trunk. To be clear, the trunk was working JUST FINE up until we went camping last weekend, when:
JOE
Hmmm.
MICHELLE
What "hmmm"?
JOE
Could you open the trunk of the car before?
MICHELLE
You mean was I able to open it earlier today?
JOE
Yeah.
MICHELLE
Well, of course, that's how I crammed all those sleeping bags and blankets and camping stuff in there.
JOE
Hmmm.
MICHELLE
WHAT "HMMM"?
JOE
I think I just broke the lock on your trunk.
The trunk could no longer be opened by the car key itself, nor by pulling the lever in the driver footwell, though oddly, the remote control keychain button still worked. I didn't think this was a big deal at all--usually I open it with the remote anyway--but Joe pointed out that if we ever lost the keychain or it malfunctioned, we would be toast.
"OK, so I'll stop locking the kids in the trunk then," I responded (I thought) quite reasonably.
Joe made me take the car in anyway.
The car fixit place (I just took this one picture there of the pretty rust pattern, though I realize this photo makes it look like a vehicular internment camp--not that far off, I guess) told me that I should expect to leave my car there for at least the rest of the day. They would most likely have to dismantle the whole trunk, replace the lock apparatus en bloc if (IF, they emphasized portentously) they could locate the correct parts, a process that might take a day or two. When I balked at the day or two (or two? Two days? TWO EARTH DAYS?) they replied that they would make their best effort to at least have the car in drivable condition by nightfall, though under no circumstances (they underlined this with an eye-roll, to illustrate how crazy this would be) should I expect the trunk situation to be anywhere near fully resolved without another one or two visits for full repairs down the road.
Anyway, I thanked them for their opinion and diagnostic time, and proceeded to take my car to a Toyota dealership across town. (Not to ruin your fancy doctor car dreams, but I drive a used Toyota Camary with a sizeable dent on the rear drivers side. If you see me on the road, say hi, I'll be the one gripping the steering wheel in panic.) At the dealership, the guy looked at my trunk for two seconds, clicked something over in the lock mechanism, and said, "There. You're good to go."
Apparently we (Joe) had automatically engaged the trunk into "valet mode," which I wasn't aware existed but I guess is what you do if you are getting your car valet parked but don't want the parking people to look into your trunk and see you stash of dead bodies or whatnot in there. The trunk wasn't broken at all. It was such a no-brainer the people at the Toyota place didn't even charge me.
So from a multi-day, labor-intensive, thousand-dollar estimate to a problem that was fixed with a seasoned eye, some common sense, and a flick of a switch. I guess this would be a good time to draw an analogy back to patient care, but I think you can probably take those last few steps on your own.
Friday, March 25, 2011
apparently turning into a running tattletale series about other drivers
So I was driving back from my local Asian Grocery Mart (Super H Mart! I love you and your multiple Pocky species!) when I was stopped at a red light behind this SUV. Suddenly the door opened, a hand stuck out, and dumped a half full plastic cup of some beverage out of the car onto the pavement. Not just the liquid part, mind you, the whole cup. Then they closed the door, and when the light turned green, they just drove away.
Part of me was incensed, because if Ranger Rick and his Forest Rangers taught me anything, it's that LITTERING IS BAD. But it's the complete disregard for the social contract that really drove me crazy. It's like in that episode of "The Simpsons," when someone asked Homer why he threw trash on the ground instead of looking for a garbage can. ("Because it's easier. Duh.") Which is funny because it's true, but this was broad daylight in the middle of a giant street, wasn't this person even a little embarrassed to just jettison trash out their vehicle? What was this, outer space, and they're just blowing detritus out of their airlock hatch?
Like George McFly, I'm essentially a coward when it comes to confrontation, but I was two impulse units away from beeping my horn in disapproval. The only thing that stopped me is that I've watched enough local news to have a healthy suspicion that, particularly in the South, outrageously rude drivers actually carry firearms in their vehicles with alarming frequency. So in the interest of not getting shot, I didn't do anything more disapproving that taking a picture with my cell phone and posting a scoldy commentary on my marginally trafficked blog.
Uh, that'll teach them a lesson! Or something!
Part of me was incensed, because if Ranger Rick and his Forest Rangers taught me anything, it's that LITTERING IS BAD. But it's the complete disregard for the social contract that really drove me crazy. It's like in that episode of "The Simpsons," when someone asked Homer why he threw trash on the ground instead of looking for a garbage can. ("Because it's easier. Duh.") Which is funny because it's true, but this was broad daylight in the middle of a giant street, wasn't this person even a little embarrassed to just jettison trash out their vehicle? What was this, outer space, and they're just blowing detritus out of their airlock hatch?
Like George McFly, I'm essentially a coward when it comes to confrontation, but I was two impulse units away from beeping my horn in disapproval. The only thing that stopped me is that I've watched enough local news to have a healthy suspicion that, particularly in the South, outrageously rude drivers actually carry firearms in their vehicles with alarming frequency. So in the interest of not getting shot, I didn't do anything more disapproving that taking a picture with my cell phone and posting a scoldy commentary on my marginally trafficked blog.
Uh, that'll teach them a lesson! Or something!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
like one of those urban legends, but dumber
So look, I'm not a good driver--you know this. I am a little bit better at it now, because I am forced to drive every day in order to get...well, anywhere (it's Atlanta) but still, when things happen that are out of the ordinary when I'm driving, I don't like it. I get nervous.
So when I was driving down a major street yesterday and that big van pulled up close alongside me, I didn't like it very much. I liked it even less when some guy stuck his head and half his body out of the window of the front passenger seat and started frantically gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, and then back to me again.
At this point, I figured one of several things.
I looked over at the guy and gestured quickly (again, difficult to do, I have this thing about keeping both hands on the wheel--and by "thing," I mean that I am a constitutionally nervous driver) "What?" He didn't say anything, just make this desperate, panicked face, again gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, then to me again. Well, shit.
Cautiously (again, remember, we're still driving high speed down a road at this point, a big, busy road, with no place to pull off), I rolled down my window and tentatively shouted out my window, "Is something wrong?"
The guy in the van, not missing a beat, shouted back, "I can't help but notice that you have a big dent in the back of your car, ma'am. Would you like me to help you fix it?" He was looking for freelance auto body work. What did he I think I was going to do? Say yes so he could throw a handful of business cards into my window? I very politely said no thank you (trying all the while to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road), and rolled up my window again.
What I didn't tell him is that I had made that big dent in the car myself, while backing up our other car into it in our driveway last year. Because I'm a terrible driver. And he's lucky I didn't put a dent in his van while he was trying to arrange some sort of high speed interaction with me as we were both barreling down a major street during rush hour.
In sum: I hate driving. The end.
So when I was driving down a major street yesterday and that big van pulled up close alongside me, I didn't like it very much. I liked it even less when some guy stuck his head and half his body out of the window of the front passenger seat and started frantically gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, and then back to me again.
At this point, I figured one of several things.
1.) My brakelight was out.
2.) The back of my car was on fire.
3.) I had just run over something (or, god forbid, someone).
4.) I had a flat tire.
5.) I was going to get carjacked.
6.) There was a killer in the backseat with a hook for a hand, and the call is coming FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE! (Also, my trunk was filled with Pop Rocks and Coke.)
I looked over at the guy and gestured quickly (again, difficult to do, I have this thing about keeping both hands on the wheel--and by "thing," I mean that I am a constitutionally nervous driver) "What?" He didn't say anything, just make this desperate, panicked face, again gesturing to me, then to the back of my car, then to me again. Well, shit.
Cautiously (again, remember, we're still driving high speed down a road at this point, a big, busy road, with no place to pull off), I rolled down my window and tentatively shouted out my window, "Is something wrong?"
The guy in the van, not missing a beat, shouted back, "I can't help but notice that you have a big dent in the back of your car, ma'am. Would you like me to help you fix it?" He was looking for freelance auto body work. What did he I think I was going to do? Say yes so he could throw a handful of business cards into my window? I very politely said no thank you (trying all the while to keep my hands on the wheel and my eyes on the road), and rolled up my window again.
What I didn't tell him is that I had made that big dent in the car myself, while backing up our other car into it in our driveway last year. Because I'm a terrible driver. And he's lucky I didn't put a dent in his van while he was trying to arrange some sort of high speed interaction with me as we were both barreling down a major street during rush hour.
In sum: I hate driving. The end.
Thursday, February 03, 2011
internal monologue of the not-quite-good samaritan
There are two left turn lanes off the exit of the highway that I take to work. Usually I get to work so early that traffic of any kind is not a problem, especially on the local roads, but this morning, there seemed to be an awful lot of brake lights and lane changing on this one short span. I was in the right lane, everyone ahead of me seemed to be changing into the left lane to bypass something that was apparently obstructing traffic up ahead. As I got closer, I saw that there was actually a stopped car up ahead. A car that was braked at the intersection, not moving despite the fact that the light was green.
Because of my position in the line, I pulled up right alongside the car. I figured it was probably some kind of breakdown or engine problems, thought I thought it was odd that the car would be stopped in traffic without any hazard light turned on. But there was a guy inside the car, alone, sitting in the driver's seat. He was sitting up, leaning up against the back of the seat with his eyes closed, and he wasn't moving.
Well, shit.
First thing I thought was, cardiac arrest. I craned my neck more. Was he breathing? Hard to say. He definitely wasn't moving in any way that I could make out through my car window. He didn't looked slumped over or anything obviously ominous, but who falls asleep at an intersection, for chrissake? So clearly, he was dead.
Shit.
I should get out and see if he's OK.
Well obviously he's not OK, just look at him.
He had an MI. No, wait, he had a stroke. A hemorrhagic stroke. No, wait, a ruptured aneurysm.
Could he be sleeping? Who falls asleep off the exit of a highway?
OK, I've got to get out there. Ew, I don't want to touch a dead person. I don't want to do CPR on a dead person. I don't even have any gloves.
Get a grip, woman, you're a doctor.
But...ew, dead people.
I have to go out there. Is that safe? Am I going to get hit by another car? What's going to happen to my car? Now both lanes of traffic will be blocked. People are going to be mad. There's going to be honking. I hate honking. Why do they honk so much here?
OK, I've got to go see if he's OK. Shit, I'm going to be late for work. What cases do I have this morning? I have to start that CABG, don't I? Oh, and I have that shoulder replacement too, now I'm not going to have time to block that patient before we go back. I have to call the OR front desk. I hate being late for work.
But who cares if you're a little late for work, there's a dead guy there! Anyway, we're right around the corner from the hospital. You'll just get in his car, drive him over to the ER...wait, what if I don't know how to drive his car? What if it's a stick shift? I should call 911. Yes, 911. That's what people do.
JUST GET OUT THERE AND CHECK ON HIM, ASSHOLE.
I put the car in park. Just as I was reaching for my door handle, the guy in the other car, apparently not dead, opened his eyes and drove off. So I would like to say that I was in the process of doing the right thing, but honestly, since he never gave me the chance, I'm not so sure.
Monday, April 19, 2010
this is what is known as a multi-pronged approach to preparation
One other consistent piece of advice that I received about taking my oral boards (yes, I'm talking about the fucking boards again, but just bear with me, they're on Wednesday, and then hopefully never again) is that I should be sure to take some beta blockers before showing up. This under no less authority than my partner at work, the oral boards examiner himself. As he explained it (and not like I don't know this to be true, but he's actually seen it happen year after year) is that when you show up to take the boards, you are very NERVOUS and you get a HUGE CATECHOLAMINE SURGE and meanwhile you're WAITING AND WAITING for your exam to begin and your SYMPATHETIC NERVOUS SYSTEM is all revving OUT OF CONTROL, so by the time you actually get into your first test room you're all WRUNG OUT and EXHAUSTED and SHAKING, which just makes you feel like hell before they even ask you your first question. Also: flop sweat. So, I agreed that if he thought it was best, then beta blockade I would.
(Now before the non-medicals accuse me of taking the PERFORMANCE ENHANCING DRUGS, let me assure you that this is not the same as blood doping or taking, I don't know, Ritalin or whatever. Beta blockers are a non-narcotic medication usually prescribed for hypertension and/or ischemic heart disease that work on bringing down your blood pressure and heart rate, thereby reducing the stress on your heart. They have no psychotropic effects, and lots of people--actors and public speakers in particular--will take them for stage fright and whatnot to block the physical effects of anxiety. So don't worry, I'm not juicing like Drago in "Rocky IV.")
Anyway, beta blockade seemed like a good enough idea, and conveniently enough, I actually have some metoprolol at home, which Joe has been taking for a few months after his run-in with myocarditis. (He mainly takes his to suppress ectopy--that is to say, he gets palpitations and the metoprolol smooths them out.) However, given that I don't usually take any medications to reduce my blood pressure, and it's not like my baseline blood pressure is super high to begin with, I wanted to do a trial run with the metoprolol. You know, so I wouldn't take it for the first time and keel over in front of my first two examiners in some ungainly display of orthostatic hypotension. You know, like a demo.
After taking half a tab of metoprolol this weekend (which had basically zero effect) I took a full tab today. And I felt...the same. I thought my heart rate was maybe a little bit slower, (it was maybe high 70s when I took the med, and when I checked it again it was low 70s) but how could I say for sure, I was sitting down, I'd had something to drink, I was chilling out in a Starbucks for chrissake--not exactly the greatest stress test in the world. Of course, you could argue that the fact that my heart rate was not higher after drinking coffee was diagnostic, but I had a chai, so who knows how much caffeine is in that? Anyway, I had dodged the worst case scenario (read: I WAS NOT DEAD) but as for the intended effect of the beta blocker, I still wasn't sure.
The one other thing that I wanted to do today was take a test drive to the hotel where the exam is being held. The oral exams are being administered there all week, and candidates are told a specific day and time to show up so that they're sort of staggered throughout the day, Monday through Friday. I know where the hotel is (thank you, Google Maps) and I know that it's only 9 minutes from my house, but given that it's a busy part of town during a busy time of day, and given that I am the novice driver you all know me to be, I thought it best to practice the drive.
Well, I drove to the hotel. But see, where this hotel is located is right next to the on ramp for the highway, and though I could see where the hotel was--if I stopped my car and got out, I could have actually walked right up to in in about 30 seconds--it was one of those things where I couldn't see any way to turn into the driveway, and once I passed the hotel it was all MUST TURN THIS WAY and LOOP BACK THAT WAY and DO NOT ENTER and THIS WAY TO THE INTERSTATE. I had been warned about this last week, but seriously, that area is a major clusterfuck. And so I was slingshotted in the traffic like a helpless projectile, trying to figure out how not to end up on the interstate and how to loop back to the main street, all while trying to avoid all these Atlanta drivers who were all honking and merging with their penis-substitute convertible sports cars and all giving each other the finger (honestly, I grew up in New York City, and I've never seen as many drivers give each other the finger as I have in my two years here). It was terrifying. But even though in my mind I thought, "This is terrifying," my body did not feel terrified. My body felt calm. In fact, when I finally got out of that traffic vortex and stopped at an intersection, I checked my pulse. Still in the 70s. So I guess beta blockade works.
I had to loop back around to the hotel a total of four times before I finally found the entrance driveway, by the way. And then I saw all these people walking around with suits and notecards looking like they were going to puke. So that made me nervous again. But only in my mind, not my body. My body was sipping boiling water and spitting out icicles. Yay for beta blockers!
Medicolegal addendum: Please know of course that beta blockers are not for everyone and that there are certain conditions that should preclude you from taking them, consult your primary care doctor before starting any prescription medications, etc. etc. ad infinitum
One other consistent piece of advice that I received about taking my oral boards (yes, I'm talking about the fucking boards again, but just bear with me, they're on Wednesday, and then hopefully never again) is that I should be sure to take some beta blockers before showing up. This under no less authority than my partner at work, the oral boards examiner himself. As he explained it (and not like I don't know this to be true, but he's actually seen it happen year after year) is that when you show up to take the boards, you are very NERVOUS and you get a HUGE CATECHOLAMINE SURGE and meanwhile you're WAITING AND WAITING for your exam to begin and your SYMPATHETIC NERVOUS SYSTEM is all revving OUT OF CONTROL, so by the time you actually get into your first test room you're all WRUNG OUT and EXHAUSTED and SHAKING, which just makes you feel like hell before they even ask you your first question. Also: flop sweat. So, I agreed that if he thought it was best, then beta blockade I would.
(Now before the non-medicals accuse me of taking the PERFORMANCE ENHANCING DRUGS, let me assure you that this is not the same as blood doping or taking, I don't know, Ritalin or whatever. Beta blockers are a non-narcotic medication usually prescribed for hypertension and/or ischemic heart disease that work on bringing down your blood pressure and heart rate, thereby reducing the stress on your heart. They have no psychotropic effects, and lots of people--actors and public speakers in particular--will take them for stage fright and whatnot to block the physical effects of anxiety. So don't worry, I'm not juicing like Drago in "Rocky IV.")
Anyway, beta blockade seemed like a good enough idea, and conveniently enough, I actually have some metoprolol at home, which Joe has been taking for a few months after his run-in with myocarditis. (He mainly takes his to suppress ectopy--that is to say, he gets palpitations and the metoprolol smooths them out.) However, given that I don't usually take any medications to reduce my blood pressure, and it's not like my baseline blood pressure is super high to begin with, I wanted to do a trial run with the metoprolol. You know, so I wouldn't take it for the first time and keel over in front of my first two examiners in some ungainly display of orthostatic hypotension. You know, like a demo.
After taking half a tab of metoprolol this weekend (which had basically zero effect) I took a full tab today. And I felt...the same. I thought my heart rate was maybe a little bit slower, (it was maybe high 70s when I took the med, and when I checked it again it was low 70s) but how could I say for sure, I was sitting down, I'd had something to drink, I was chilling out in a Starbucks for chrissake--not exactly the greatest stress test in the world. Of course, you could argue that the fact that my heart rate was not higher after drinking coffee was diagnostic, but I had a chai, so who knows how much caffeine is in that? Anyway, I had dodged the worst case scenario (read: I WAS NOT DEAD) but as for the intended effect of the beta blocker, I still wasn't sure.
The one other thing that I wanted to do today was take a test drive to the hotel where the exam is being held. The oral exams are being administered there all week, and candidates are told a specific day and time to show up so that they're sort of staggered throughout the day, Monday through Friday. I know where the hotel is (thank you, Google Maps) and I know that it's only 9 minutes from my house, but given that it's a busy part of town during a busy time of day, and given that I am the novice driver you all know me to be, I thought it best to practice the drive.
Well, I drove to the hotel. But see, where this hotel is located is right next to the on ramp for the highway, and though I could see where the hotel was--if I stopped my car and got out, I could have actually walked right up to in in about 30 seconds--it was one of those things where I couldn't see any way to turn into the driveway, and once I passed the hotel it was all MUST TURN THIS WAY and LOOP BACK THAT WAY and DO NOT ENTER and THIS WAY TO THE INTERSTATE. I had been warned about this last week, but seriously, that area is a major clusterfuck. And so I was slingshotted in the traffic like a helpless projectile, trying to figure out how not to end up on the interstate and how to loop back to the main street, all while trying to avoid all these Atlanta drivers who were all honking and merging with their penis-substitute convertible sports cars and all giving each other the finger (honestly, I grew up in New York City, and I've never seen as many drivers give each other the finger as I have in my two years here). It was terrifying. But even though in my mind I thought, "This is terrifying," my body did not feel terrified. My body felt calm. In fact, when I finally got out of that traffic vortex and stopped at an intersection, I checked my pulse. Still in the 70s. So I guess beta blockade works.
I had to loop back around to the hotel a total of four times before I finally found the entrance driveway, by the way. And then I saw all these people walking around with suits and notecards looking like they were going to puke. So that made me nervous again. But only in my mind, not my body. My body was sipping boiling water and spitting out icicles. Yay for beta blockers!
Medicolegal addendum: Please know of course that beta blockers are not for everyone and that there are certain conditions that should preclude you from taking them, consult your primary care doctor before starting any prescription medications, etc. etc. ad infinitum
Friday, April 16, 2010
both a reassurance and a curse
When I went to take my written test for my learner's permit (probably a little less than a year ago), I saw this middle-aged guy at a computer testing station about two seats away from me with a book in his lap. Upon closer inspection, this book was a Myanmar to English/English to Myanmar dictionary. This poor guy was slogging through this test, word by word, flipping frantically through his dictionary trying to figure out what "merge" and "signal" meant in Myanmar before answering.
My first thought? Wow, that's rough. But if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English can pass his written driving test, surely I can too.
My second though? Wow, if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English passes the test and I don't, I am going to be extremely embarrassed.
As it was, I was probably just one question away from failing that written driving test. (Though to be fair, almost all the questions that I got wrong were related to various speed limits in various zones--couldn't I just look at the speed limit signs in real life?) But I passed. And I think about that Burmese guy sometimes still. I hope he passed too.
Anyway, the point of me writing this is because, well, obviously I'm taking the oral boards in a few days. And I'm not overly stressed about it, I think it will be fine, though of course occasionally, I will think, OMG OMG THE ORAL BOARDS OMG and I'll get a little anxious that I'll get nailed with the crazy obscure stem question about the quadriplegic achondroplastic dwarf newborn with mucopolysaccharidosis, and that my examiners will be a tag team known as "Bad Cop" and "Worse Cop." But several people have tried to calm me (and they said that this was the most comforting piece of reassurance, or at least perspective, that they themselves received before their oral boards) is that a good number of my co-test-takers are foreign nationals and actually don't speak English very well, so I, aside from being reasonably well-trained, at least have a huge advantage in the fact that I, you know, grew up speaking the language in which the exam is administered.
And that is a little reassuring, I suppose. But my second thought? Wow, if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English passes the oral boards and I don't, I'm going to be extremely embarrassed.
(Of course this is in no way to discredit those colleagues among us--my parents included, each Board Certified in their respective fields--who have tackled the extremely unruly language of English and managed to get through all the hurdles just as us native speakers have. I couldn't do what you have done. Bravo.)
When I went to take my written test for my learner's permit (probably a little less than a year ago), I saw this middle-aged guy at a computer testing station about two seats away from me with a book in his lap. Upon closer inspection, this book was a Myanmar to English/English to Myanmar dictionary. This poor guy was slogging through this test, word by word, flipping frantically through his dictionary trying to figure out what "merge" and "signal" meant in Myanmar before answering.
My first thought? Wow, that's rough. But if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English can pass his written driving test, surely I can too.
My second though? Wow, if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English passes the test and I don't, I am going to be extremely embarrassed.
As it was, I was probably just one question away from failing that written driving test. (Though to be fair, almost all the questions that I got wrong were related to various speed limits in various zones--couldn't I just look at the speed limit signs in real life?) But I passed. And I think about that Burmese guy sometimes still. I hope he passed too.
Anyway, the point of me writing this is because, well, obviously I'm taking the oral boards in a few days. And I'm not overly stressed about it, I think it will be fine, though of course occasionally, I will think, OMG OMG THE ORAL BOARDS OMG and I'll get a little anxious that I'll get nailed with the crazy obscure stem question about the quadriplegic achondroplastic dwarf newborn with mucopolysaccharidosis, and that my examiners will be a tag team known as "Bad Cop" and "Worse Cop." But several people have tried to calm me (and they said that this was the most comforting piece of reassurance, or at least perspective, that they themselves received before their oral boards) is that a good number of my co-test-takers are foreign nationals and actually don't speak English very well, so I, aside from being reasonably well-trained, at least have a huge advantage in the fact that I, you know, grew up speaking the language in which the exam is administered.
And that is a little reassuring, I suppose. But my second thought? Wow, if this Burmese guy who doesn't even speak English passes the oral boards and I don't, I'm going to be extremely embarrassed.
(Of course this is in no way to discredit those colleagues among us--my parents included, each Board Certified in their respective fields--who have tackled the extremely unruly language of English and managed to get through all the hurdles just as us native speakers have. I couldn't do what you have done. Bravo.)
Thursday, November 26, 2009
unorthodox, but grateful nonetheless
I got my first driver's license a little more than a month ago. I KNOW. However, since then, I have driven to and from work every single day, and even though I don't really know how to go anywhere else and I get really nervous whenever I have to deviate from that home-work-home route, I'm kind of getting used to driving. This is a big step for me, as every time got behind the wheel even two or three months ago would have me shaking with white-knuckled terror. I can even change lanes on the highway now without activating my fight or flight response. I am becoming a normal person.
MICHELLE
I wouldn't say it's enjoyable, but driving is becoming...satisfying. You know, like any other repetitive, habituated behavior.
JOE
(Brightly)
Like pooping!
(Long pause)
MICHELLE
No...not like pooping.
I used to not even be able to hold a conversation while I was driving (truth be told--I still don't like to talk when I'm driving somewhere that I'm not familiar) but at least with my commute to and from work, I recently progressed to being able to listen to the radio--the soft rock station only at first, until it started to drive my slowly insane--and now I am comfortable enough that I can listen to my podcasts* again. I can actually listen to other people having a conversation, concentrate on the conversation, and not veer off the road. Do you know what a big deal this is? It is. It is a very big deal.
I AM THIRTY-ONE YEARS OLD AND I JUST GOT MY FIRST DRIVER'S LICENSE.
So anyway, I can drive now is all I have to say. And I drove my kids around (twice!) when Joe wasn't around and we had to get somewhere and I had no other choice, and we all lived! Even though I had to tell Cal don't talk to Mommy while she's driving the car
CAL
Why?
MICHELLE
Because I have to concentrate.
CAL
What's "concentrate" mean?
MICHELLE
Concentrate means when you have to think hard about something.
CAL
Why do you have to think hard?
MICHELLE
Because...shh. Shhh. I just do, just...shhh.
CAL
Mom, why did you say "Shh?"
MICHELLE
Cal, don't talk to Mommy while she's driving!
CAL
But Mom, you're not driving.
MICHELLE
Well, I'm in the car, sitting behind the steering wheel.
CAL
(Pityingly)
But it's a red light.
MICHELLE
That's it, no more talking forever.
Um...Happy Thanksgiving!
* I used to only have the "This American Life" podcast to fall back on, but as of late I am in love with "Jordan Jesse Go!" because it is funny and I don't want to be depressed about the war in Afghanistan or teenage runaway heroin addicts first thing in the morning. If you can suggest any other similar funny podcasts, please advise. (I am trying to get the comments section back online but it has been disabled for so long that I kind of don't know how to do it. Bear with me.)
I got my first driver's license a little more than a month ago. I KNOW. However, since then, I have driven to and from work every single day, and even though I don't really know how to go anywhere else and I get really nervous whenever I have to deviate from that home-work-home route, I'm kind of getting used to driving. This is a big step for me, as every time got behind the wheel even two or three months ago would have me shaking with white-knuckled terror. I can even change lanes on the highway now without activating my fight or flight response. I am becoming a normal person.
MICHELLE
I wouldn't say it's enjoyable, but driving is becoming...satisfying. You know, like any other repetitive, habituated behavior.
JOE
(Brightly)
Like pooping!
(Long pause)
MICHELLE
No...not like pooping.
I used to not even be able to hold a conversation while I was driving (truth be told--I still don't like to talk when I'm driving somewhere that I'm not familiar) but at least with my commute to and from work, I recently progressed to being able to listen to the radio--the soft rock station only at first, until it started to drive my slowly insane--and now I am comfortable enough that I can listen to my podcasts* again. I can actually listen to other people having a conversation, concentrate on the conversation, and not veer off the road. Do you know what a big deal this is? It is. It is a very big deal.
I AM THIRTY-ONE YEARS OLD AND I JUST GOT MY FIRST DRIVER'S LICENSE.
So anyway, I can drive now is all I have to say. And I drove my kids around (twice!) when Joe wasn't around and we had to get somewhere and I had no other choice, and we all lived! Even though I had to tell Cal don't talk to Mommy while she's driving the car
CAL
Why?
MICHELLE
Because I have to concentrate.
CAL
What's "concentrate" mean?
MICHELLE
Concentrate means when you have to think hard about something.
CAL
Why do you have to think hard?
MICHELLE
Because...shh. Shhh. I just do, just...shhh.
CAL
Mom, why did you say "Shh?"
MICHELLE
Cal, don't talk to Mommy while she's driving!
CAL
But Mom, you're not driving.
MICHELLE
Well, I'm in the car, sitting behind the steering wheel.
CAL
(Pityingly)
But it's a red light.
MICHELLE
That's it, no more talking forever.
Um...Happy Thanksgiving!
* I used to only have the "This American Life" podcast to fall back on, but as of late I am in love with "Jordan Jesse Go!" because it is funny and I don't want to be depressed about the war in Afghanistan or teenage runaway heroin addicts first thing in the morning. If you can suggest any other similar funny podcasts, please advise. (I am trying to get the comments section back online but it has been disabled for so long that I kind of don't know how to do it. Bear with me.)
Friday, September 18, 2009
60 posts in 60 non-consecutive days: the stink of failure
So...I failed my road test. But it wasn't totally my fault.
Wait, let me rephrase that. It was my fault. Nobody failed my road test for me. But the nature of the failure wasn't (in my opinion) related to skill or disobeying traffic rules or running over granny or anything like that. Well, let me get to that part.
First of all, yesterday (the day I took my road test) was maybe one of the rainiest days I've seen since moving to Atlanta. This was not rain as you or I understand it, this was monsoon season on the Ganges. This was, "I can barely see out of my front windshield with the wipers going at full speed, giant lakes of water on either side, can't hear what anyone is saying because of the volume of water beating down on the roof" typhoon level rain. It was also the first time I had ever driven in the rain. Ever. Not making excuses, just saying. There was a note on the DMV website that said that driving tests would be cancelled under unsafe weather conditions, but I guess they were talking about, I don't know, tornadoes or something. I know I'm going to have to learn to drive in the rain at some point, since, you know, it does rain sometimes, but probably trying to do it for the first time the day of the road test would not be the way I would want to break into the practice of inclement weather driving. Anyway, again, not an excuse, but non-ideal conditions they were.
We waited at the DMV for about two hours. It was a little annoying since we actually made a 9:00am appointment for the test (in the end, it turns out there was some sort of problem with the light-up board that calls your number, hence us waiting an hour past the appointment time for our ticket to get called), but at least it allowed us to play sociologist in the fascinating and occasionally grim world of the DMV. Like, for example, noting this conversation next to me, between a a mom and a teenage girl filling out an application for her learner's permit.
TEENAGE GIRL
(going through checkboxes on form)
"Do you want to be listed as an organ donor on your license?" What does that mean?
MOM
It means if you're in an accident and they have the choice between saving you or saving your organs, which one should they save? If you say you're an organ donor, they'll just take your organs and let you die.
TEENAGE GIRL
Oh. I don't want that.
(Checks "NO" on the form)
MICHELLE
Sigh.
When it finally came time for the test, we had to run out from the rear doors of the DMV to this tin metal shed, where "the licensed driver" (Joe) was instructed to pull up the car. The rain on the tin roof was deafening. The road test instructor was kind of a small lady, clad in a full-length (and I mean full-length, down to her ankles) yellow rain slicker with a gigantic hood. With the hood up, she looked like that killer with a hook for a hand in "I Know What You Did Last Summer," except, you know, yellow. I know that instructors aren't supposed to give a lot of feedback or show emotion or whatever, but she was also rather sphinxlike. Meaning that she was unusually stoic and stony-faced, not that she had the body of a lion or anything. (Though, under that rain slicker, who knows?)
"Get in the car and (blum blur blar) so I can check your (inaudible)," she mumbled grimly.
"Excuse me?" I moved closer to her so that I could hear. "Sorry, I didn't catch that, the rain is really loud."
She looked at me about a beat too long. "I need to check your TURN SIGNALS and your BRAKELIGHTS," she said, as though to someone of questionable intelligence.
"Oh. Yes. Right away." I duly fired the signals, and she neither conformed nor denied that everything was OK, just got into the car.
"Cool raincoat," I noted. I wasn't trying to kiss up, though the second those words were out of my mouth, I wish I hadn't said them, because--complimenting your road test instructor's attire? How could that not be perceived as kissing up? In any event, she didn't respond, just telling me to pull out into the driving course in the back lot.
The driving course part went OK, I think (again, I didn't get any feedback, so who knows. It was fairly hard to see out of any of the windows despite the windshield wipers going full blast and the defrosters going front and back, but I think I parallel parked OK, and I think I managed to do what she was telling me. ("Yes ma'am." Southern people seem to have this innate ability to say "Yes sir" or "Yes ma'am" sounding totally sincere, but for some reason, when I say it, it sounds sarcastic, even if I mean it. But no matter.)
The real trouble came when we had to start the "road" portion of the road test. Now, let me just say this first: I had been told by several people (including one of our OR techs, whose daughter just took her road test at this same DMV location a few months ago) that this would consist of "driving around the block." I also heard from one of the other parents standing under the tin shed (I guess they were there for a repeat road test too) that the instructor would take us "in a circle." So I was all geared up for that. We pulled out of the parking lot, turned right, and started going down this long, straight road which ran parallel along a larger street.
"Up ahead," the instructor droned, "there's a left turn coming up. Go left, straight."
"Left, got it." I approached the turn and saw a couple of signs indicating that I could make a left turn to double back at this point. Figuring that this was the part of the circle where we turned around, I signaled, pulled up to the intersection, and turned left, heading straight down the road back the way we came. Only as I was completing my turn (visibility not so good, remember), did I see a small, side street a little off to the right from the left turn, across another lane of traffic, which went straight down into kind of a warehouse-y type neighborhood. And I probably wouldn't have thought much about that, except that for the first time, the road test instructor showed a human emotion, a barely perceptible moue of annoyance and displeasure.
"Oh wait," I said, trying to salvage the situation. "Did you want me to go into that side street? When you said 'left, straight,' I thought you wanted me to turn left and head straight down this road. Sorry, I didn't understand what you meant. Do you want me to go back?"
"Pull back into the center," she said. And that's when I knew that I'd failed.
Anyway, after I made the Drive of Shame back to the shed, she told me that I "didn't make it today" and that I "needed to learn to follow instructions." I remembered that not following instructions was one of the automatic fail criteria of the road test, lumped in with trying to bribe the instructor or driving on the wrong side of the street into oncoming traffic. I would argue (not that I did, NEVER ARGUE WITH THE DMV) that "not following instructions" is different than "not understanding instructions" (for example, if she had said, "turn left here, across the lane of traffic slightly off to the right is another road, I want you to go straight down there" we might not have had this issue), and I exhibited no unsafe driving or violation of traffic laws...but whatever. You can't semantically debate your way out of a DMV fail. I will make another appointment for as soon as I can and hopefully, it won't be hurricane conditions that day.
(And I definitely didn't say this part, but saying that a former medical resident needs to learn to follow instructions? Until last year, following instructions was all I ever did. Medical training is like the army, but with worse food.)
So...I failed my road test. But it wasn't totally my fault.
Wait, let me rephrase that. It was my fault. Nobody failed my road test for me. But the nature of the failure wasn't (in my opinion) related to skill or disobeying traffic rules or running over granny or anything like that. Well, let me get to that part.
First of all, yesterday (the day I took my road test) was maybe one of the rainiest days I've seen since moving to Atlanta. This was not rain as you or I understand it, this was monsoon season on the Ganges. This was, "I can barely see out of my front windshield with the wipers going at full speed, giant lakes of water on either side, can't hear what anyone is saying because of the volume of water beating down on the roof" typhoon level rain. It was also the first time I had ever driven in the rain. Ever. Not making excuses, just saying. There was a note on the DMV website that said that driving tests would be cancelled under unsafe weather conditions, but I guess they were talking about, I don't know, tornadoes or something. I know I'm going to have to learn to drive in the rain at some point, since, you know, it does rain sometimes, but probably trying to do it for the first time the day of the road test would not be the way I would want to break into the practice of inclement weather driving. Anyway, again, not an excuse, but non-ideal conditions they were.
We waited at the DMV for about two hours. It was a little annoying since we actually made a 9:00am appointment for the test (in the end, it turns out there was some sort of problem with the light-up board that calls your number, hence us waiting an hour past the appointment time for our ticket to get called), but at least it allowed us to play sociologist in the fascinating and occasionally grim world of the DMV. Like, for example, noting this conversation next to me, between a a mom and a teenage girl filling out an application for her learner's permit.
TEENAGE GIRL
(going through checkboxes on form)
"Do you want to be listed as an organ donor on your license?" What does that mean?
MOM
It means if you're in an accident and they have the choice between saving you or saving your organs, which one should they save? If you say you're an organ donor, they'll just take your organs and let you die.
TEENAGE GIRL
Oh. I don't want that.
(Checks "NO" on the form)
MICHELLE
Sigh.
When it finally came time for the test, we had to run out from the rear doors of the DMV to this tin metal shed, where "the licensed driver" (Joe) was instructed to pull up the car. The rain on the tin roof was deafening. The road test instructor was kind of a small lady, clad in a full-length (and I mean full-length, down to her ankles) yellow rain slicker with a gigantic hood. With the hood up, she looked like that killer with a hook for a hand in "I Know What You Did Last Summer," except, you know, yellow. I know that instructors aren't supposed to give a lot of feedback or show emotion or whatever, but she was also rather sphinxlike. Meaning that she was unusually stoic and stony-faced, not that she had the body of a lion or anything. (Though, under that rain slicker, who knows?)
"Get in the car and (blum blur blar) so I can check your (inaudible)," she mumbled grimly.
"Excuse me?" I moved closer to her so that I could hear. "Sorry, I didn't catch that, the rain is really loud."
She looked at me about a beat too long. "I need to check your TURN SIGNALS and your BRAKELIGHTS," she said, as though to someone of questionable intelligence.
"Oh. Yes. Right away." I duly fired the signals, and she neither conformed nor denied that everything was OK, just got into the car.
"Cool raincoat," I noted. I wasn't trying to kiss up, though the second those words were out of my mouth, I wish I hadn't said them, because--complimenting your road test instructor's attire? How could that not be perceived as kissing up? In any event, she didn't respond, just telling me to pull out into the driving course in the back lot.
The driving course part went OK, I think (again, I didn't get any feedback, so who knows. It was fairly hard to see out of any of the windows despite the windshield wipers going full blast and the defrosters going front and back, but I think I parallel parked OK, and I think I managed to do what she was telling me. ("Yes ma'am." Southern people seem to have this innate ability to say "Yes sir" or "Yes ma'am" sounding totally sincere, but for some reason, when I say it, it sounds sarcastic, even if I mean it. But no matter.)
The real trouble came when we had to start the "road" portion of the road test. Now, let me just say this first: I had been told by several people (including one of our OR techs, whose daughter just took her road test at this same DMV location a few months ago) that this would consist of "driving around the block." I also heard from one of the other parents standing under the tin shed (I guess they were there for a repeat road test too) that the instructor would take us "in a circle." So I was all geared up for that. We pulled out of the parking lot, turned right, and started going down this long, straight road which ran parallel along a larger street.
"Up ahead," the instructor droned, "there's a left turn coming up. Go left, straight."
"Left, got it." I approached the turn and saw a couple of signs indicating that I could make a left turn to double back at this point. Figuring that this was the part of the circle where we turned around, I signaled, pulled up to the intersection, and turned left, heading straight down the road back the way we came. Only as I was completing my turn (visibility not so good, remember), did I see a small, side street a little off to the right from the left turn, across another lane of traffic, which went straight down into kind of a warehouse-y type neighborhood. And I probably wouldn't have thought much about that, except that for the first time, the road test instructor showed a human emotion, a barely perceptible moue of annoyance and displeasure.
"Oh wait," I said, trying to salvage the situation. "Did you want me to go into that side street? When you said 'left, straight,' I thought you wanted me to turn left and head straight down this road. Sorry, I didn't understand what you meant. Do you want me to go back?"
"Pull back into the center," she said. And that's when I knew that I'd failed.
Anyway, after I made the Drive of Shame back to the shed, she told me that I "didn't make it today" and that I "needed to learn to follow instructions." I remembered that not following instructions was one of the automatic fail criteria of the road test, lumped in with trying to bribe the instructor or driving on the wrong side of the street into oncoming traffic. I would argue (not that I did, NEVER ARGUE WITH THE DMV) that "not following instructions" is different than "not understanding instructions" (for example, if she had said, "turn left here, across the lane of traffic slightly off to the right is another road, I want you to go straight down there" we might not have had this issue), and I exhibited no unsafe driving or violation of traffic laws...but whatever. You can't semantically debate your way out of a DMV fail. I will make another appointment for as soon as I can and hopefully, it won't be hurricane conditions that day.
(And I definitely didn't say this part, but saying that a former medical resident needs to learn to follow instructions? Until last year, following instructions was all I ever did. Medical training is like the army, but with worse food.)
Sunday, September 06, 2009
60 posts in 60 days, day 9: road test
September 19th, I'm going to take my road test for my Georgia driver's license. I've been able to hold off for more than a year (a fact that defies credulity), since we live near a subway station at present and I don't go anywhere during the week except between home and work. However, once we move, I won't be able to take the train to work anymore, and if I can't drive I won't be able to get to work, which basically means that, as the primary breadwinner of this family, our entire livelihood is resting on the fact that I will pass this road test and get my driver's license.
(No pressure, though.)
Not wanting to shell out any more money for Driver's Ed, I'm relying on Joe to get me up to speed (as it were) for this test. Luckily, he is already on beta blockers. Since driving is such a reflexive, intuitive thing for most people by adulthood, it's proving harder to teach in a constructive manner than one would think. Though he is overall a fairly calm, patient person, I think there's something about teaching your spouse to drive that reduces all your constructive instruction to: quit driving so crappy. Yesterday, we were practicing parallel parking.
JOE
Now back in straight. Straight. Now cut it hard. Are you cutting it all the way?
MICHELLE
Yes, I'm doing it. God.
JOE
You're never going to make it in now.
MICHELLE
Thanks, fatalist. Well, once I get in the spot, I can try to get in closer to the curb.
JOE
Just start again. Cut it hard when you clear the cone.
(Reattempt)
JOE
Now you're going in too steep!
MICHELLE
You told me to!
JOE
But look at you, you're going in sideways!
MICHELLE
Well, if you'd just let me do it the way I was doing it, I'd be fine!
JOE
You're not getting close enough to the curb! The manual says you have to be 18 inches from the curb.
MICHELLE
Well, but those cones are in the way. Do you think you can get 18 inches from the curb with those cones there?
JOE
Oh, easily.
MICHELLE
OK, show me then.
(JOE parallel parks. Opens the door to check. Car is two feet from the curb.)
MICHELLE
"Oh, easily."
JOE
Shut up.
It's not so much the road test that I'm worried about, though, it's the actual driving myself to work. It shouldn't be that bad in the morning, since I'll be on the road before 6:00am, but it's the commute back home during rush hour. When I started my anesthesia residency, it took me a good month of being in my own room to feel at least slightly more comfortable at the helm, so I expect it will be the same thing with the car. The difference is, the anesthesia machine isn't moving at 60 miles an hour on the highway. Hold me.
September 19th, I'm going to take my road test for my Georgia driver's license. I've been able to hold off for more than a year (a fact that defies credulity), since we live near a subway station at present and I don't go anywhere during the week except between home and work. However, once we move, I won't be able to take the train to work anymore, and if I can't drive I won't be able to get to work, which basically means that, as the primary breadwinner of this family, our entire livelihood is resting on the fact that I will pass this road test and get my driver's license.
(No pressure, though.)
Not wanting to shell out any more money for Driver's Ed, I'm relying on Joe to get me up to speed (as it were) for this test. Luckily, he is already on beta blockers. Since driving is such a reflexive, intuitive thing for most people by adulthood, it's proving harder to teach in a constructive manner than one would think. Though he is overall a fairly calm, patient person, I think there's something about teaching your spouse to drive that reduces all your constructive instruction to: quit driving so crappy. Yesterday, we were practicing parallel parking.
JOE
Now back in straight. Straight. Now cut it hard. Are you cutting it all the way?
MICHELLE
Yes, I'm doing it. God.
JOE
You're never going to make it in now.
MICHELLE
Thanks, fatalist. Well, once I get in the spot, I can try to get in closer to the curb.
JOE
Just start again. Cut it hard when you clear the cone.
(Reattempt)
JOE
Now you're going in too steep!
MICHELLE
You told me to!
JOE
But look at you, you're going in sideways!
MICHELLE
Well, if you'd just let me do it the way I was doing it, I'd be fine!
JOE
You're not getting close enough to the curb! The manual says you have to be 18 inches from the curb.
MICHELLE
Well, but those cones are in the way. Do you think you can get 18 inches from the curb with those cones there?
JOE
Oh, easily.
MICHELLE
OK, show me then.
(JOE parallel parks. Opens the door to check. Car is two feet from the curb.)
MICHELLE
"Oh, easily."
JOE
Shut up.
It's not so much the road test that I'm worried about, though, it's the actual driving myself to work. It shouldn't be that bad in the morning, since I'll be on the road before 6:00am, but it's the commute back home during rush hour. When I started my anesthesia residency, it took me a good month of being in my own room to feel at least slightly more comfortable at the helm, so I expect it will be the same thing with the car. The difference is, the anesthesia machine isn't moving at 60 miles an hour on the highway. Hold me.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
"i'm walking here! i'm walking here!"
Not to get too Ratso Rizzo, and not to belabor the point, but man, the drivers in Atlanta act as though they have never in their lives seen pedestrians before. Prime example: see the picture above? The railroad white striping is the pedestrian crosswalk, the fat white line at right is where cars are supposed to stop so that the pedestrians have room. If you are in a car, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO STOP AT THE FAT WHITE LINE. I know this, because I took Driver's Ed, like, recently. (Don't ask me about the driving anymore. Seriously. No more talking.)
Not to get too Ratso Rizzo, and not to belabor the point, but man, the drivers in Atlanta act as though they have never in their lives seen pedestrians before. Prime example: see the picture above? The railroad white striping is the pedestrian crosswalk, the fat white line at right is where cars are supposed to stop so that the pedestrians have room. If you are in a car, YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO STOP AT THE FAT WHITE LINE. I know this, because I took Driver's Ed, like, recently. (Don't ask me about the driving anymore. Seriously. No more talking.)
But the cars here act like there is no fat white line. They pull past the fat white line, through the pedestrian crossing, with the damn noses of their car poking into the perpendicular road so that they can pull out when the light turns, like, one millisecond faster. Which means that if I have to cross the street (on foot--yes, we humans have not evolved past bipedal locomotion yet, despite what ye motorists of Atlanta may think) I actually have to walk in front of your halfway-into-the-intersection car to get around you, which puts me (and my kid) in the flow of oncoming traffic. And yes, maybe I could walk behind your giant-ass car instead of in front, but then the car behind you is, like, right up on your rear, and even if there is by chance enough room, the fact that you can't imagine the concept of having a pedestrian cross in front of you kind of removes the, shall we say, trust factor that makes me think you would actually look over the dashboard of your GIGANTIC SUV to see short little me and my even shorter kid walking along your rear bumper in the rearview mirror and not crush us both.
That is why I am waving and gesturing at you when I'm crossing the street. Not because I'm trying to be friendly. Not because we know each other from somewhere and I just want to say hi. I am flailing my arms in the air because I need you to see me and know that I WANT TO LIVE.
Monday, July 07, 2008
intrepid
Cal and I are planning to do a lot of exploring this week. Today marks Joe's first official day of fellowship (though I think most of the day is non-clinical, rather involves him running from hospital to hospital dealing with administrative issues--IDs, passwords and whatnot), so we're on our own and ready to make the most of it. Since I told my new job that I wouldn't be starting until the first week of August, Cal and I have a good month together to party down, and towards the second half of the month, gradually phase in the new nanny. (We've been in contact with someone for a few months now, have an in-person interview scheduled soon, about which more later.) There are a lot of things we want to do (and a couple of things we have to do later this week--decidedly less fun, however, like the apartment walk-through with our real-estate agent, letting in the movers, etcetera) but today I decided that I was going to take Cal to one of these bouncy-house places that seem to be quite popular down here in Ye Land of Seemingly Unlimited Commercial Space. Do you know what I'm talking about? They have these gigantic inflatable jungle obstacle-course-type-things that you can climb on, slide down, moon-bounce houses, blow-up animals, what have you. It looked fun. So that was the adventure part for Cal. The adventure part for me was figuring out how to get there on the bus.
Now, even in New York, I would rarely take the bus unless I was going crosstown, opting instead whenever possible to take the subway, because duh, it is faster. However, I believe it is not an understatement to tell you that the New York City subway system is somewhat more extensive than that in Atlanta (the MARTA rail seems to consist of two perpendicular lines that sort of fan out slightly at the edges of the city), whereas the bus covers some, though not all, of the area left unserviced by train. So we knew that today, we were going to take the bus.
So now I've taken the train and the bus here, and I have to say that so far, from what I've heard of MARTA from the locals, public transportation in Atlanta gotten a bad rap. I mean, it's not most people's main means of travel like it is in some cities, so as such, it's obviously a little underserviced, but in general, I think it's OK. Partially, I think the stigma is cultural--the impression I get is that people take MARTA because they don't have a good other option (read: no car) so while many would rather drive, some don't really have a choice; as opposed to New York, where people take the subway because it is fast and efficient and having a car in the city is a big fat pain in the ass. Sure, the MARTA bus doesn't run on schedule (I think our line was running about 20 minutes late on either leg of the trip), and sure, it was a long time between buses (about half an hour, per the "schedule"), but once we got on it was fast and it was clean and there was a lot of room for Cal's stroller. And I guess the key is that we weren't really in a hurry anyway. I got a 30-day unlimited pass at the subway station yesterday, and I think we'll be getting some good use out of it.
Anyway, the Kinderbouncehaus was fun, and Cal got to expend a lot of energy without having to lose 50% of his body weight in sweat. (Seriously, what do kids do outside here in the summer? It is so unbelievably hot. Swim, I guess. Or play Wii in their rec rooms.) Afterwards, we had lunch at this sort of dodgy sandwich place near the bouncy place (Cal had his own food), and then caught the bus to come back home. It was a nice day. Plus, we got to do the public transportation thing, which, once I realized was a reasonable option here, gives us a lot more options of places to go and stuff to do.
I know, I know, the next thing you're going to ask me now is, when are you going to get your driver's license? People, I AM WORKING ON IT, but just remember that having two drivers in the family is not the same as having two cars, and since Joe needs our one car for work anyway, it's not like there'd be anything for me to drive around anyway, even if, you know, I was legally able to do so.
Anyway. We'll probably head downtown tomorrow to check out the Children's Museum or the Aquarium or some such thing. If Cal doesn't drag me back to Kinderbouncehaus, that is.
Cal and I are planning to do a lot of exploring this week. Today marks Joe's first official day of fellowship (though I think most of the day is non-clinical, rather involves him running from hospital to hospital dealing with administrative issues--IDs, passwords and whatnot), so we're on our own and ready to make the most of it. Since I told my new job that I wouldn't be starting until the first week of August, Cal and I have a good month together to party down, and towards the second half of the month, gradually phase in the new nanny. (We've been in contact with someone for a few months now, have an in-person interview scheduled soon, about which more later.) There are a lot of things we want to do (and a couple of things we have to do later this week--decidedly less fun, however, like the apartment walk-through with our real-estate agent, letting in the movers, etcetera) but today I decided that I was going to take Cal to one of these bouncy-house places that seem to be quite popular down here in Ye Land of Seemingly Unlimited Commercial Space. Do you know what I'm talking about? They have these gigantic inflatable jungle obstacle-course-type-things that you can climb on, slide down, moon-bounce houses, blow-up animals, what have you. It looked fun. So that was the adventure part for Cal. The adventure part for me was figuring out how to get there on the bus.
Now, even in New York, I would rarely take the bus unless I was going crosstown, opting instead whenever possible to take the subway, because duh, it is faster. However, I believe it is not an understatement to tell you that the New York City subway system is somewhat more extensive than that in Atlanta (the MARTA rail seems to consist of two perpendicular lines that sort of fan out slightly at the edges of the city), whereas the bus covers some, though not all, of the area left unserviced by train. So we knew that today, we were going to take the bus.
So now I've taken the train and the bus here, and I have to say that so far, from what I've heard of MARTA from the locals, public transportation in Atlanta gotten a bad rap. I mean, it's not most people's main means of travel like it is in some cities, so as such, it's obviously a little underserviced, but in general, I think it's OK. Partially, I think the stigma is cultural--the impression I get is that people take MARTA because they don't have a good other option (read: no car) so while many would rather drive, some don't really have a choice; as opposed to New York, where people take the subway because it is fast and efficient and having a car in the city is a big fat pain in the ass. Sure, the MARTA bus doesn't run on schedule (I think our line was running about 20 minutes late on either leg of the trip), and sure, it was a long time between buses (about half an hour, per the "schedule"), but once we got on it was fast and it was clean and there was a lot of room for Cal's stroller. And I guess the key is that we weren't really in a hurry anyway. I got a 30-day unlimited pass at the subway station yesterday, and I think we'll be getting some good use out of it.
Anyway, the Kinderbouncehaus was fun, and Cal got to expend a lot of energy without having to lose 50% of his body weight in sweat. (Seriously, what do kids do outside here in the summer? It is so unbelievably hot. Swim, I guess. Or play Wii in their rec rooms.) Afterwards, we had lunch at this sort of dodgy sandwich place near the bouncy place (Cal had his own food), and then caught the bus to come back home. It was a nice day. Plus, we got to do the public transportation thing, which, once I realized was a reasonable option here, gives us a lot more options of places to go and stuff to do.
I know, I know, the next thing you're going to ask me now is, when are you going to get your driver's license? People, I AM WORKING ON IT, but just remember that having two drivers in the family is not the same as having two cars, and since Joe needs our one car for work anyway, it's not like there'd be anything for me to drive around anyway, even if, you know, I was legally able to do so.
Anyway. We'll probably head downtown tomorrow to check out the Children's Museum or the Aquarium or some such thing. If Cal doesn't drag me back to Kinderbouncehaus, that is.
Friday, February 08, 2008
next up, taking a bath in champagne
I canceled my driving lesson for tomorrow. I know that I need to learn how to drive, but I was on call last night, and I'm on call on Sunday, and then again on Tuesday. I have not gone to bed without setting my alarm for the past month. I just want to sleep in tomorrow. Sleep in and eat breakfast while seated and then spend the morning with my family.
So I canceled my driving lesson. I can resume learning the intricacies of the three point turn and the parallel park next weekend, but tomorrow, I am sleeping late. Or as late as Cal will let me, which will likely be until about 8:30am, at which point he will no doubt start peering into my face and exhorting me to play trains. But anyway, no alarm, no schedule, SLEEPING LATE.
I feel so decadent.
I canceled my driving lesson for tomorrow. I know that I need to learn how to drive, but I was on call last night, and I'm on call on Sunday, and then again on Tuesday. I have not gone to bed without setting my alarm for the past month. I just want to sleep in tomorrow. Sleep in and eat breakfast while seated and then spend the morning with my family.
So I canceled my driving lesson. I can resume learning the intricacies of the three point turn and the parallel park next weekend, but tomorrow, I am sleeping late. Or as late as Cal will let me, which will likely be until about 8:30am, at which point he will no doubt start peering into my face and exhorting me to play trains. But anyway, no alarm, no schedule, SLEEPING LATE.
I feel so decadent.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
ten and two
The only thing worse than having to get up early on a Saturday morning to sit through a five hour class about driving safety is having to do it for the second time. Of course, it's my own fault, I never took my road test after the first five hour class and the certificate elapsed after a year. But still...damn.
However, having now attended more than one of these classes, I am free to make sweeping generalizations. My teacher this time around was an older man named Mr. Cohen, who introduced himself as such and said that we could feel free to call him by his first name, though he never actually elaborated what that first name was. My theory is that it was "Mister."
This city being (as I was told in second grade) a melting pot, my class this time around was largely composed of foreign nationals who for reasons of business have recently relocated to New York and require a New York State driver's license. As with last time, the actual amount of information conveyed in this class (which is universally called "the five hour class," its length apparently being the salient feature above all else) if condensed, would probably only take up about an hour, which further illustrated another requirement for those hoping to teach this course. You have to be able to talk a lot about nothing in particular, and you have to be able to go off on long, winding tangents. Well, you know, mission accomplished. Nothing against this guy, he was a sweet old man, and he meant well, but...
Well, let me just include an excerpt from the "don't drink and drive" portion of the talk. This seems to invite the greatest degree of elaboration from any driving instructor apparently, and turns even the most science-illiterate layman into an internal medicine consult. After being treated to an elaborate and long-winded theory on how alcohol gets "diluted by body fat" and how the liver "absorbs the alcohol from the stomach," Mr. Cohen then elaborated on some of the international laws surrounding DUI.
MR. COHEN
(Pacing in front of his desk)
But here in New York, I think we have it easy. In Bulgaria, I believe if you're caught driving under the influence, you're executed. (Pause) Anyone here from Bulgaria?
(Crickets)
MR. COHEN
Also, in France, or Paris, one of those places, if a man is caught DUI, not only is he thrown in jail,
his wife is also arrested and thrown in jail.
(The two French guys in the front row exchange glances.)
MR. COHEN
Or maybe it's in Japan.
(The Swede sitting by the window looks at MICHELLE.)
MICHELLE
(Whispering)
I'm pretty sure that's not true. But also, I'm not Japanese.
Anyway, it was fine, and everyone in the class, being adult, was exceedingly mature and polite about all of this. No one even complained that we had to watch two videos about The Dangers of Drag Racing and didn't get a chance to watch the video about Driving Tips for the Urban Environment, which, you know, may have been somewhat useful.
The only thing worse than having to get up early on a Saturday morning to sit through a five hour class about driving safety is having to do it for the second time. Of course, it's my own fault, I never took my road test after the first five hour class and the certificate elapsed after a year. But still...damn.
However, having now attended more than one of these classes, I am free to make sweeping generalizations. My teacher this time around was an older man named Mr. Cohen, who introduced himself as such and said that we could feel free to call him by his first name, though he never actually elaborated what that first name was. My theory is that it was "Mister."
This city being (as I was told in second grade) a melting pot, my class this time around was largely composed of foreign nationals who for reasons of business have recently relocated to New York and require a New York State driver's license. As with last time, the actual amount of information conveyed in this class (which is universally called "the five hour class," its length apparently being the salient feature above all else) if condensed, would probably only take up about an hour, which further illustrated another requirement for those hoping to teach this course. You have to be able to talk a lot about nothing in particular, and you have to be able to go off on long, winding tangents. Well, you know, mission accomplished. Nothing against this guy, he was a sweet old man, and he meant well, but...
Well, let me just include an excerpt from the "don't drink and drive" portion of the talk. This seems to invite the greatest degree of elaboration from any driving instructor apparently, and turns even the most science-illiterate layman into an internal medicine consult. After being treated to an elaborate and long-winded theory on how alcohol gets "diluted by body fat" and how the liver "absorbs the alcohol from the stomach," Mr. Cohen then elaborated on some of the international laws surrounding DUI.
MR. COHEN
(Pacing in front of his desk)
But here in New York, I think we have it easy. In Bulgaria, I believe if you're caught driving under the influence, you're executed. (Pause) Anyone here from Bulgaria?
(Crickets)
MR. COHEN
Also, in France, or Paris, one of those places, if a man is caught DUI, not only is he thrown in jail,
his wife is also arrested and thrown in jail.
(The two French guys in the front row exchange glances.)
MR. COHEN
Or maybe it's in Japan.
(The Swede sitting by the window looks at MICHELLE.)
MICHELLE
(Whispering)
I'm pretty sure that's not true. But also, I'm not Japanese.
Anyway, it was fine, and everyone in the class, being adult, was exceedingly mature and polite about all of this. No one even complained that we had to watch two videos about The Dangers of Drag Racing and didn't get a chance to watch the video about Driving Tips for the Urban Environment, which, you know, may have been somewhat useful.
Monday, January 21, 2008
more signs that the universe is conspiring against me
So despite all my God-given inclinations to stay out of those tin death-boxes forever, opting instead to walk or bike or scoot or whatever--I really do need to learn how to drive. I don't want to, but I have to. It's like the dentist. But without that plastic-y smell. Oh wait, cars have that smell too. Can someone explain to me why people spray that new car smell in their cars ON PURPOSE? Attention, people, that's the smell of mutagenic plastic polymers altering your DNA! Nor does it smell good! Carry on.
Anyway, I called this driving school this weekend to get a package and set up my first lesson for this morning. I told them to give me the earliest possible lesson (thus to be minimally disruptive to my busy and productive day), and they told me that someone could pick me up at 10:00am. I don't think that 10:00am is particularly early, but fine, whatever. Twenty minutes after I hang up with the driving school secretary, she calls me back.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Michelle? Instead of the lesson from 10:00 to 11:00am, could you
take a lesson from 12:00 to 1:00pm? With Ray?
MICHELLE
Um...I could...but why?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Since this is your first lesson, we thought it would be good for you
to be with Ray. He is our most requested instructor.
MICHELLE
Well...if you think that's best.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
(Fervently)
I do.
MICHELLE
Well, fine then. 12:00 to 1:00pm with Ray.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Wait for him outside your building at 12:00pm on the dot. And bring your learner's permit!
MICHELLE
Will do.
You know I am very obedient, right? Well, I am. I am very obedient and law-obeying and I always finish my full course of antibiotics, even if I'm feeling better. So this morning, I was waiting in the lobby of my building ten minutes early for my driving lesson. I waited. I waited for a long time. Yet in that half hour of waiting, not one car with flashing lights and neon yellow signs blaring STUDENT DRIVER pulled up in front of my building. Finally, I called the driving school demanding to know where the hell was this popular, requested "Ray."
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Did you buy your driving lesson package yesterday?
MICHELLE
No, two days ago.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
On Saturday? What time?
MICHELLE
What time? I don't know. In the afternoon sometime.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
(Dismayed.)
Oh.
MICHELLE
Is there a problem with that?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Well, you see...Ray is out of town right now.
MICHELLE
Ray is...what?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Ray is not in the city. They must not have logged your lesson with him until late, and he doesn't check his Google [I think she meant his e-mail - ed.] after 6:00pm. So he left town. I'm sorry.
MICHELLE
(Reflexively)
It's OK.
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE
What do you mean "it's OK," you idiot? She just wrecked your whole day off!
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
He must not have gotten the notice about your lesson. He was leaving the city.
MICHELLE
Well, the thing that kills me about this is that you guys specificallywanted to schedule me for a lesson with this guy! I had a lesson for someone else, and you guys called me back to put me with Ray! Who isn't even here!
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Would you like to reschedule for tomorrow?
MICHELLE
I have to go to work tomorrow. I can only take driving lessons on the weekends.
During the very little spare time that I have off.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Why don't we schedule your next lesson. How's next Sunday, at 8:00am?
MICHELLE
Fine. Whatever. Schedule it.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY 8:00am is not too early for you on a Sunday? Ah ha ha ha!
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE I wake up at 4:55am every morning, Lady, so don't talk to me about "too early."
MICHELLE No.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY OK, next Sunday, 8:00 to 9:00am.
MICHELLE Will this be with Ray again?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
(Flipping through schedule)
No, this lesson will be with...Jay.
MICHELLE
You're kidding, right?
So anyway, now I have Driver's Ed scheduled for the next four weekends. It is as though I have four consecutive weeks of dental surgery coming up, that's how excited I am about this. I have better things to do with my time than sit in my lobby waiting to be stood up by a driving instructor. And if I ever meet this guy Ray, I'm going to kick him in the nuts.
So despite all my God-given inclinations to stay out of those tin death-boxes forever, opting instead to walk or bike or scoot or whatever--I really do need to learn how to drive. I don't want to, but I have to. It's like the dentist. But without that plastic-y smell. Oh wait, cars have that smell too. Can someone explain to me why people spray that new car smell in their cars ON PURPOSE? Attention, people, that's the smell of mutagenic plastic polymers altering your DNA! Nor does it smell good! Carry on.
Anyway, I called this driving school this weekend to get a package and set up my first lesson for this morning. I told them to give me the earliest possible lesson (thus to be minimally disruptive to my busy and productive day), and they told me that someone could pick me up at 10:00am. I don't think that 10:00am is particularly early, but fine, whatever. Twenty minutes after I hang up with the driving school secretary, she calls me back.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Michelle? Instead of the lesson from 10:00 to 11:00am, could you
take a lesson from 12:00 to 1:00pm? With Ray?
MICHELLE
Um...I could...but why?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Since this is your first lesson, we thought it would be good for you
to be with Ray. He is our most requested instructor.
MICHELLE
Well...if you think that's best.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
(Fervently)
I do.
MICHELLE
Well, fine then. 12:00 to 1:00pm with Ray.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Wait for him outside your building at 12:00pm on the dot. And bring your learner's permit!
MICHELLE
Will do.
You know I am very obedient, right? Well, I am. I am very obedient and law-obeying and I always finish my full course of antibiotics, even if I'm feeling better. So this morning, I was waiting in the lobby of my building ten minutes early for my driving lesson. I waited. I waited for a long time. Yet in that half hour of waiting, not one car with flashing lights and neon yellow signs blaring STUDENT DRIVER pulled up in front of my building. Finally, I called the driving school demanding to know where the hell was this popular, requested "Ray."
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Did you buy your driving lesson package yesterday?
MICHELLE
No, two days ago.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
On Saturday? What time?
MICHELLE
What time? I don't know. In the afternoon sometime.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
(Dismayed.)
Oh.
MICHELLE
Is there a problem with that?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Well, you see...Ray is out of town right now.
MICHELLE
Ray is...what?
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Ray is not in the city. They must not have logged your lesson with him until late, and he doesn't check his Google [I think she meant his e-mail - ed.] after 6:00pm. So he left town. I'm sorry.
MICHELLE
(Reflexively)
It's OK.
MICHELLE'S INNER MONOLOGUE
What do you mean "it's OK," you idiot? She just wrecked your whole day off!
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
He must not have gotten the notice about your lesson. He was leaving the city.
MICHELLE
Well, the thing that kills me about this is that you guys specifically
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Would you like to reschedule for tomorrow?
MICHELLE
I have to go to work tomorrow. I can only take driving lessons on the weekends.
During the very little spare time that I have off.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
Why don't we schedule your next lesson. How's next Sunday, at 8:00am?
MICHELLE
Fine. Whatever. Schedule it.
DRIVING SCHOOL LADY
(Flipping through schedule)
No, this lesson will be with...Jay.
MICHELLE
You're kidding, right?
So anyway, now I have Driver's Ed scheduled for the next four weekends. It is as though I have four consecutive weeks of dental surgery coming up, that's how excited I am about this. I have better things to do with my time than sit in my lobby waiting to be stood up by a driving instructor. And if I ever meet this guy Ray, I'm going to kick him in the nuts.
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
patty and selma say hi
Look, I don't know you, but I can be pretty sure that standing out in the cold and flurries at Herald Square in a line snaking around the building, waiting for the DMV to open at 8:30am...probably isn't your favorite activity either. Nonetheless, it had to be done. There was a minimum of fuss--God bless New York, where you can renew your learner's permit for the second time (it's good for four years at a time--well, five years now, I'm told) without anyone batting an eye. I did have to retake the written test though, which I was initially worried about, not being all that familiar with the rules of the road. So, like any good former med student, I crammed. Now, granted, not all the questions were that hard (unless alcohol actually does enhances ones ability to drive, in which case I was sunk) but still, I got the usual nerd thrill at getting 100% on that 20 point multiple choice test. Yeah, I got 100% on my learner's permit exam! And yes, now that you mention it, I can read the top line on that eye chart! HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?
Anyway, I'm $55 poorer, but now at least that's over with. Well, except for the actual "learning" part of the learner's permit. That's a struggle that goes on and on.
Look, I don't know you, but I can be pretty sure that standing out in the cold and flurries at Herald Square in a line snaking around the building, waiting for the DMV to open at 8:30am...probably isn't your favorite activity either. Nonetheless, it had to be done. There was a minimum of fuss--God bless New York, where you can renew your learner's permit for the second time (it's good for four years at a time--well, five years now, I'm told) without anyone batting an eye. I did have to retake the written test though, which I was initially worried about, not being all that familiar with the rules of the road. So, like any good former med student, I crammed. Now, granted, not all the questions were that hard (unless alcohol actually does enhances ones ability to drive, in which case I was sunk) but still, I got the usual nerd thrill at getting 100% on that 20 point multiple choice test. Yeah, I got 100% on my learner's permit exam! And yes, now that you mention it, I can read the top line on that eye chart! HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?
Anyway, I'm $55 poorer, but now at least that's over with. Well, except for the actual "learning" part of the learner's permit. That's a struggle that goes on and on.
Monday, December 03, 2007
back to work
I'm back at work today, on call tonight. The good thing about taking overnight call as a senior is that sometimes you get to come into work late. Like most, I like to treat myself on these days. Wake up a little late, our nanny comes mid-morning and whisks Cal off to More Fun Activities Than I Could Ever Lead (today they're off to the zoo to give high-fives to the inhabitants of the monkey house), and I take a nice walk across town, have a leisurely solo lunch, and hit the medical campus library for a few hours, where I relax, do some reading, writing, whatnot. That's where I am right now, in fact. Hello, medical students! How's studying for finals going?
I am doing my relaxing now, because I think that my post-call day is going to be a little less free-wheeling. The second I get off work, I am heading into midtown to the DMV, where I will be renewing my New York State's learner's permit for the second time. Yes, I first got my learner's permit in 1998, and I have not yet gotten my driver's license. What of it?
Anyway, DMV tomorrow. As if this isn't one of life's least delightful post-call activities, it will also probably be the worst ID picture I've ever taken.
I'm back at work today, on call tonight. The good thing about taking overnight call as a senior is that sometimes you get to come into work late. Like most, I like to treat myself on these days. Wake up a little late, our nanny comes mid-morning and whisks Cal off to More Fun Activities Than I Could Ever Lead (today they're off to the zoo to give high-fives to the inhabitants of the monkey house), and I take a nice walk across town, have a leisurely solo lunch, and hit the medical campus library for a few hours, where I relax, do some reading, writing, whatnot. That's where I am right now, in fact. Hello, medical students! How's studying for finals going?
I am doing my relaxing now, because I think that my post-call day is going to be a little less free-wheeling. The second I get off work, I am heading into midtown to the DMV, where I will be renewing my New York State's learner's permit for the second time. Yes, I first got my learner's permit in 1998, and I have not yet gotten my driver's license. What of it?
Anyway, DMV tomorrow. As if this isn't one of life's least delightful post-call activities, it will also probably be the worst ID picture I've ever taken.
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