Uncommon courtesy for learner driver
26th April, 2007
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Had the sobering realisation that we will run out of water within a few months tempered, I wondered, the normally crazed psyches of the city's motorists? Perhaps the imminence of being reduced to bathing on the banks of the river, Ganges-style, had cooled the passions of our lunatic drivers, who overnight appeared to be exhibiting faint signs of civilised behaviour. No one had given me the extended finger or accused me of copulating with members of my immediate family and/or dogs for more than 24 hours. Perhaps the government was adding Valium to our dwindling water supplies to lessen the threat of civil unrest when the taps finally do run dry.
I was halfway down Brisbane's perennially occluded artery Coronation Drive when I realised that this apparent behaviour change had little to do with a lowering of the normal rage level and a lot more to do with my failure to remove the two black-on-yellow L-for-Learner panels I'd attached to the windscreen and rear window of my car. My wife and I had agreed that I would not give her driving lessons, a decision based on the sure knowledge that to do so would risk shattering the bond that exists between us. Aware that the spectre of a husband and wife trying to strangle each other in the front seat of a car while locked in inner-city traffic could attract unwelcome attention, we decided to take the driving school route. I had already made one tactical error in insisting that she opt for a licence to drive a manual rather than an automatic transmission vehicle.
"You'll thank me one day," I said.
Her revenge was exacted after her first few lessons when on a quiet Sunday afternoon we went for a "practice drive" in a manual car. "Just take it slowly," I said. A second later the car leapt forward like a greyhound that had just seen a cat.
"I told you I'd be better off getting an automatic licence," she said as we vaulted down the street with pedestrians diving behind fences or attempting to claw their way up power poles.
So a few days later we ditched the manual and went for the auto. I have learnt in the weeks since to sit quietly in the passenger seat and affect the appearance of tranquillity, carefully choosing my words - "you may have turned a little too sharply there" - and resisting the temptation to harp and harangue as we take our "practice drives". Having made the mistake of writing a blog entry that chronicled my own driving record, one littered with panelbeaters' accounts and traffic tickets, a blog entry she had read, I appreciated that when it came to offering advice I was a dubious font of wisdom. What has been surprising to me is the degree of acknowledgement most people accord L plates. The exceptions are generally overweight middle-aged men in white Commodores and badly dressed 20-something females with hair to match driving ten-year-old Hyundai Excels. The men pretend they haven't seen you and stare straight ahead as you try to change lanes, while the women drive with one hand on the wheel and the other permanently jutting out the window with the middle finger extended vertically. I return the salutation, which goes no way towards assisting my wife to change lanes but nevertheless gives me a warm, inner glow. We've got a good system now - she drives serenely around the suburbs while I sit in the passenger seat shaking my fist and ranting. Apart from cab rides, I never sit in the passenger seat. I'm always the driver. But I hadn't realised how much driving distracted you from observing the idiot actions of your fellows. Relieved of the burden of steering and stopping, you can devote you full attention to pointing out their transgressions and offering helpful hints on how they might care to improve their style. Very few of them, curiously, seem to appreciate it. |
