Friday, July 18, 2008

Schooled

So my day of reckoning for backing the dump truck into the bucket truck finally arrived (I got out of it twice but swapped today for yesterday so I could go Cruise shopping in Utah with Morgan and Mom) and I spent 4.5 hours in a room full of teenagers who landed in Defensive Driving by way of speeding tickets, reckless driving citations, and two hit-and-run incidents (and both of those were kids from Bridger Valley, go figure). A few of them were there because they had gotten tickets for driving with only a learner's permit, which their parents apparently fully endorsed, and I gotta say, people, I don't want your psycho kids on the road in your dilapidated Ford F-150s and classic Jaguars when I'm out there driving.

The lieutenant who conducted our class mumbles on just like Ben Stein in the Clear Eyes commercials and presented the usual gory cautionary tales (which are many and effective, if you ask me, all that blood and regret) in an abbreviated way because we were boring, possibly the most boring group he'd ever had, he decided. I wanted to remind him that the last time I took his class, he had a head cold and could barely complete a sentence, which he actually wasn't having much luck with today, either, and at one point he spelled "officer etiquette" like this: "officer edicate." Even Microsoft's lousy spell checker knows that's bogus. But it was a good attempt for a Friday.

The class was mercifully brief but made me realize what an inattentive (and lucky) driver I've become, although since Puck arrived I'm a lot more careful because a) he's new and b) even though I feel perfectly safe in Puck, I don't feel quite as indestructible as I was in Monte or the Cadillac, which both have a lot more steel than Puck. But Puck has a series of explosive bubbles tucked away inside his plastic armor at strategic points and a unified frame that'll get the job done in a collision. The lieutenant explained today that they've done away with the term "accident," since with a vehicle there is no such thing. A cause can always be pinpointed, be it a road condition or driver error.

Anyway, thirteen teenagers and I left that room sadder but wiser drivers, and hopefully I will never see any of them again. You know how I feel about teenagers.

2 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

You hate teenagers??? I work with 25 of them, how do ya think i feel? its like i'm the "mommy" of the crew, very annoying.

you were once one yourself lady, didn't you get kicked out of Denny's a few times?? ehhehehe

July 19, 2008 at 7:22 AM  
Blogger mister anchovy said...

I've driven in, around and through Wyoming quite a number of times through the years, and defensive driving isn't the first thing that comes to mind. The exception was a trip that took me through Sheridan. In town they had speed limits of 25, huge electronic signs telling drivers how fast they were driving, and two cop cars set up to stop the speeders. Now when you're driving on the highway, just keeping pace with traffic (that means almost airborne), it's hard to adjust the flaps and slam on the brakes fast enough to even see the town, much less drive at 25 mph.

July 21, 2008 at 5:49 AM  

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