Shoutout to my home-slices!
Since moving from NY to VA, I've finally completed a number of milestones that most of my peers tackled about ten years ago. My advantage is that I got to accomplish them with far fewer pimples.
Technically, I got my driver's license at the age of 18 (already two years after everyone else in New Hampshire). At the time, you could get a full license at 16, no restrictions. It just so happened that most kids in our high school took driver's ed after school with Mr. Costa. Mr. Costa was our algebra, trig, calculus, and erstwhile driving instructor. I'm not entirely sure what qualified him to spend so many hours in a car with teenagers, but it was tradition. You took a class, you did a project, and you drove him to Costco after school so he could buy pastries and candy, then sell them to you at profit (some kind of class fundraising thing).
The thing is, his class was tough. Well, not so much the written tests as the time spent in a vehicle with him. For one thing, it wasn't an approved "student driver" car. Although he mercifully had his own brake on the passenger side, he didn't have a rearview mirror. Instead, he used the vanity mirror. Now, Mr. Costa really wanted to make sure his kids could drive under any conditions. Rain, snow, dark, and rowdy children. Yes, rowdy children. Assuming that we'd all be married with rugrats soon after graduation (or well before), he made sure to simulate real world conditions. While you were driving, he'd dial obnoxious songs on the radio and thrust a pencil "microphone" into your face. He'd scream loudly at random moments. Worst of all, he'd unexpectedly jam the emergency brake while you were stopped at a red light... waiting to do so just before the light turned, and only while every other car in the state was queued behind you. Ah, good times.
I managed to pass his driving test, just barely. I had no idea that if I'd taken the exam at my local DMV instead of with him, I'd only have to "drive around the block". I'd heard that rumor, but I thought it was a joke. His test lasted at least 45 minutes, involved parallel parking, and definitely wasn't easy for a first-timer. I lost 15 points for stopping just over a road-worn, barely-there white line at an intersection. My best friend (by far the better driver), failed. She missed a stop sign in a mall parking lot that opened on to another part of the lot. We didn't even know it was there, and apparently none of the other drivers in front of us did either.
But yeah, I passed. I bought a used 1985 Pontiac Grand-Am, got a job at K-Mart, and drove the same route every day to work for two months. Twice, I drove to NYC (each time almost paralyzed with dread and literally clutching step-by-step instructions in the days before Mapquest or Tom-Tom). Then it ended. A trip to North Carolina ended abruptly with a "cracked block" on a desolate exit ramp. I got $50 "fer scrap metal" and never drove again. I didn't have to, having since moved to NYC, principally because of the public transportation. (Really. I'd always hated driving, and the thought of not having to was immensely appealing.)
So it was with great trepidation that I began driving again here in Virginia. Most of the thanks go to Lucas, who offered not only his precious red truck, but his unflappable calm and instruction. Truly, most of the credit goes to him. He's amazing. To illustrate, let me say that I'm quite sure now that the only thing he'd say if confonted by a rabid wolf intent on ripping out his lower intestines is "hmmm". If his airplane suddenly burst into flames and dropped 10,000 feet, he might say, "ain't that some shit" quietly to himself. So I now have my driver's license, again. Whereas my learner's permit made me look like a homicidal psychopath with incurable hemorrhoids, my permanent license only makes me look profoundly retarded. Good enough.
In other milestones, I now have a job. You are officially reading the words of an Apple Creative. If you're familiar with an Apple Genius, you've got the general idea only my job concentrates specifically on digital photography, imaging, printing, and pro-apps such as Aperture. When he told me I'd been hired, my new boss commented that everyone loved me and definitely thought I'd fit in great. The general maanager said that I'd be sent to Cupertino (Apple's headquarters) for training. Whoa! Although I'm technically part-time and seasonal for now, I've been told that it's highly likely I'll be brought on full-time and that the hardest part of rising at Apple is "getting in the door". I start any day now. Mostly, I'm excited about the free t-shirts and my hawt name-badge.
(P.S. Thanks to Little Bee-Jorn for the hilarious Ambien recipes. Mmmm, Sopressa con Quesa!)
Technically, I got my driver's license at the age of 18 (already two years after everyone else in New Hampshire). At the time, you could get a full license at 16, no restrictions. It just so happened that most kids in our high school took driver's ed after school with Mr. Costa. Mr. Costa was our algebra, trig, calculus, and erstwhile driving instructor. I'm not entirely sure what qualified him to spend so many hours in a car with teenagers, but it was tradition. You took a class, you did a project, and you drove him to Costco after school so he could buy pastries and candy, then sell them to you at profit (some kind of class fundraising thing).
The thing is, his class was tough. Well, not so much the written tests as the time spent in a vehicle with him. For one thing, it wasn't an approved "student driver" car. Although he mercifully had his own brake on the passenger side, he didn't have a rearview mirror. Instead, he used the vanity mirror. Now, Mr. Costa really wanted to make sure his kids could drive under any conditions. Rain, snow, dark, and rowdy children. Yes, rowdy children. Assuming that we'd all be married with rugrats soon after graduation (or well before), he made sure to simulate real world conditions. While you were driving, he'd dial obnoxious songs on the radio and thrust a pencil "microphone" into your face. He'd scream loudly at random moments. Worst of all, he'd unexpectedly jam the emergency brake while you were stopped at a red light... waiting to do so just before the light turned, and only while every other car in the state was queued behind you. Ah, good times.
I managed to pass his driving test, just barely. I had no idea that if I'd taken the exam at my local DMV instead of with him, I'd only have to "drive around the block". I'd heard that rumor, but I thought it was a joke. His test lasted at least 45 minutes, involved parallel parking, and definitely wasn't easy for a first-timer. I lost 15 points for stopping just over a road-worn, barely-there white line at an intersection. My best friend (by far the better driver), failed. She missed a stop sign in a mall parking lot that opened on to another part of the lot. We didn't even know it was there, and apparently none of the other drivers in front of us did either.
But yeah, I passed. I bought a used 1985 Pontiac Grand-Am, got a job at K-Mart, and drove the same route every day to work for two months. Twice, I drove to NYC (each time almost paralyzed with dread and literally clutching step-by-step instructions in the days before Mapquest or Tom-Tom). Then it ended. A trip to North Carolina ended abruptly with a "cracked block" on a desolate exit ramp. I got $50 "fer scrap metal" and never drove again. I didn't have to, having since moved to NYC, principally because of the public transportation. (Really. I'd always hated driving, and the thought of not having to was immensely appealing.)
So it was with great trepidation that I began driving again here in Virginia. Most of the thanks go to Lucas, who offered not only his precious red truck, but his unflappable calm and instruction. Truly, most of the credit goes to him. He's amazing. To illustrate, let me say that I'm quite sure now that the only thing he'd say if confonted by a rabid wolf intent on ripping out his lower intestines is "hmmm". If his airplane suddenly burst into flames and dropped 10,000 feet, he might say, "ain't that some shit" quietly to himself. So I now have my driver's license, again. Whereas my learner's permit made me look like a homicidal psychopath with incurable hemorrhoids, my permanent license only makes me look profoundly retarded. Good enough.
In other milestones, I now have a job. You are officially reading the words of an Apple Creative. If you're familiar with an Apple Genius, you've got the general idea only my job concentrates specifically on digital photography, imaging, printing, and pro-apps such as Aperture. When he told me I'd been hired, my new boss commented that everyone loved me and definitely thought I'd fit in great. The general maanager said that I'd be sent to Cupertino (Apple's headquarters) for training. Whoa! Although I'm technically part-time and seasonal for now, I've been told that it's highly likely I'll be brought on full-time and that the hardest part of rising at Apple is "getting in the door". I start any day now. Mostly, I'm excited about the free t-shirts and my hawt name-badge.
(P.S. Thanks to Little Bee-Jorn for the hilarious Ambien recipes. Mmmm, Sopressa con Quesa!)