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The first thing you have to do is take the Driver’s Education class. At our school, this was done instead of P.E. for one quarter. The Virginia State Department of Transportation, or some other pointless branch of our pointless legislature of this pointless government which is led by a pointless leader who has taken advantage of this pointless society, has decided that all 10th graders must take a certain amount of Driver’s Education in school. However, it only takes about six hours to cover all of the materials in the driving manual. So now, we are left with about 7 ½ weeks of Driver’s Ed., and we are finished with the course. Maybe we could involve the teacher in stimulating conversation. Oh, wait a sec. This is a P.E. coach, here. Forget that. In order to eat up the rest of the time, all classes are allowed, forced, really, to watch "World’s Most Dangerous, Inescapable, Deadly, Hazardous, Risky and/or Dumbest Car, Truck, Tractor, Bike and/or Wagon Crashes Ever Caught on Tape XVII" for the remaining class time.
Now, the point of Driver’s Ed is not to teach you how to drive. Everybody already knows how to drive. It’s the simplist form of transportation there is. And that includes walking, and I don’t mind telling you that I’ve had my problems with walking. No, the point of Driver’s Ed is to show you that everyone else on the road is an idiot. The point of "Behind-the-Wheel" is to teach you that YOU are an idiot. Both of these methods are different than the parent approach. By having your parent/parents/guardian teach you how to drive, they are really pointing out that they are the idiots, as if you didn’t know that already.
Going back to "Behind-the-Wheel", I took lessons with Keith’s Driving School (Approved for Teaching in 49 States: SCREW YOU, DELAWARE), and I actually had Keith. THE Keith! But, man, was he old! He’s was really old! He could have started out with Keith’s Horse and Buggy School (Approved for Teaching in 152 Cities: SCREW YOU, PLYMOTH). But seriously, he was at least in his late fifty’s/early sixty’s. And he was always trying to tell us stories while we are driving.
Here’s an example:
"Alright, now. I was listening to the radio, and—you want to make that turn up there—the radio, and I heard this—now get into the left lane—uh, heard this story on—I said the RIGHT LANE! What are you doing? God, so I was listening to the radio and heard this story about giving dogs medicine—alright, this turn right here—medicine and they said—not this turn! I meant the next turn! Are you trying to get us killed?!?! And they said that…uh, where was I?" Between these conversations, the horns beeping at us, and past student showing Keith what they thought of his class with a certain finger, I really hated that class.
Then, after you finish that, you have to go to court and get your actual license. Then a judge comes out a says, "Hello to all of you new and bright faces. It is my privilege to bestow upon you your driver’s license. I hope that I will never see any of you in my courtroom, except for getting your marriage certificates." For some reason, the judge and the bailiff both thought that that was funny. "Since I don’t know any of you, I will probably pronounce your—Hey! Jared! How’s that parole coming? You just have, what, three months left? That’s great! I hope that you’ve learned by now that blow torches and methane don’t mix, right? Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha…" I’m surprised that I didn’t go screaming from the room right then.
I mean, is it really worth all that trouble to just get a license? The test should be first, give you the keys, second, give you the car, and third, set you free on the highway with six of your friends in the back seat. If you die, you fail. If not, then you pass the test and get to keep on driving dangerously and speeding beyond the point on common sense. Come on, how else are you going to get on "World’s Most Dangerous Car-Cow Collisions Ever Caught of Tape—Live XLMCIICIXMCILVMXII?"
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