Drive Like a Boss....'s Lowest Employee

There is one test of skills and one test only that shreds my brain into a state of screaming terror. One that activates my sweat glands to waterfall mode. One that has seen the my heart race like that guy named Lightning or something.

Heights? They make me laugh. Snakes make me coo, spiders don't interest me, the dark is my element, I speak to a full room as if the people hang on my every word.

And yet...

More horrifying than a second language Zulu exam, more adrenaline pumping than a modern dance concert, more paralyzing than a practical piano exam, more humiliating than any Afrikaans oral, more numbing than any performance of skills I have yet experienced.  

Drivers. Licence. Exam.

Looming, ominous, and I lie defeated before it.

(Fall down seven times, get up eight.

In my case, it's fall down four times, stand up five.

My parents pocket's hold thumbs that I am not the one to fulfill that Chinese prophecy.)

K53, I bow and scrape to the song of your finicky demands. I am checking those mirrors like a Paris Hilton wannabe. Checking those blindspots like a secret agent. Hand-signals like a gangster. 

But then I rolled - like a gangster. And I pulled out dangerously in front of a huge truck - like a secret agent. And I was unroadworthy - like a Paris Hilton wannabe.

This fruitless pursuit has involved 11 visits to 4 different lisencing bureaus, and more money than Ihave the guts to count. But oh to drive! Independance and freedom are yet to be mine.