Driving School

Actuellement écoutant : Tony le Battement par les Bruits

Bored+google translater. I'm sure I fucked up French grammar, but I've never learned any sort of formal French, so...

So... Country Rob Reiner is an asshole. You may find yourself, sitting at your chair at your computer while eating a hot pocket and watching anime at 2 a.m., wondering who the hell Country Rob Reiner? Country Rob Reiner was the second of my two driving 'instructors'. I use that quoted term lightly, as there wasn't a whole lot of instruction going on... All of these geniuses were football coaches, so it was the expected teaching methodology: "Now do this. Wait, you don't know how already? Why not?" I suppose I understand that kind of an attitude. I mean, it's not like it was a driver's education course, or something.

But I had fun driving grandma cars on the course. That was fun. Hence my having fun. But Country Rob Reiner wasn't fun, nor was driving his fat ass around. Of the hour I was in the car with him, maybe five minutes were spent on roads with shoulders. I struggle with shoulderless roads. And why shouldn't I? I live in the suburbs, not bumfuck! It's ridiculous. And the whole notion of scripted driving is nuts. It was like, driving driving driving CHANGE LANES oh you didn't do it fast enough, you fail. That's not how it works, cha'know? Typically, you've got ample time to change lanes, unless you're about to miss your turn. But we were in no hurry, and yet he still gave me ten seconds to change lanes. He was like, "Too late." And I was like, "Too late for what? The lane is still changeable. It's the same two lanes."

And then about twenty minutes later, he looked at me and asked if I had my blinker on back nyah. Without thinking or really doing anything besides answer him, I answered in a very unconcerned tone, "...No, should I have?" In retrospect, maybe I could have handled that differently. And maybe he wouldn't have been such a douche if I had tits (er, lady tits) and was short a thing or three between my legs.