It was a big day in the Rolf family. Little Jackie Boy and I were heading for the License Bureau so he could take his driving test.
We’d
gone a couple of days earlier to secure a time and had spent some time watching
other new drivers trying…and failing…to pass the maneuverability test. Jack had been practicing through our
makeshift cone set-up at Millridge School, but here were the official cones and
although there were signs posted that said we weren’t allowed to practice
parking (we were maneuvering…not parking), it seemed rather ridiculous to
me. Seriously, why wouldn’t the state
want drivers to practice more maneuverability on cones that couldn’t be
dented? I told Jack I imagined it was
because some people would knock them over and be too lazy to put them back, but
I’m sure there is some other, more official reason…that’ stupid. Anyway, since no one was waiting and there
was no ‘official’ outside, I told him to try and go through.
“Are
you sure? What if we get caught and then
they hold it against me when I come back to take MY test?” he asked.
I’m
happy that he’s not the rule breaker his dad is, but I’m working on it. “Better to beg forgiveness than ask
permission I always say,” I said in response.
He
was half-way through when the officer appeared through a door from the
Bureau. He looked at us, pointed to the
sign that disallowed our criminal activity with his official clipboard, and
looked away…too quickly to see me flipping him off. Jack was mortified and pulled away with
concern showing on his face.
“It’s
no big deal, Jack. We’ll never see him
again and besides, you’re going to nail it because you’ve been practicing and
you’ve had me to teach you for the last six months. What a killer combination,” I said. It didn’t seem to comfort him.
Anyway,
we were sitting outside the Bureau waiting for Jack to take his test when the
same officer emerged from the building. He looked a little concerned, but I
told him to ‘see’ the Jeep going through the cones and not touching anything as
we tapped fists and I exited the vehicle.
I really was confident that he’d pass, but I left the area so he wouldn’t
be more nervous by me watching.
Ten
minutes later, he was pulling up outside the building. The officer exited the Jeep and gave me the ‘thumbs
up’ signal. Jack was beaming as I
climbed in.
“I
thought I’d failed. I stopped in the
middle of the maneuverability and I think I bumped a cone. Then he told me to pull out to start the
driving part of the test and I hadn’t gone through the cones both ways,” he
said.
“You
only have to go to one side though you don’t know which one they’re going to
pick. Too bad he just didn’t tell you
you’d passed so you could stop thinking about it and concentrate on the driving
part. Think that’s what I’d do if I was
an instructor,” I said.
He
was very happy and agreed that we needed to go to Fisher’s Tavern and get a
big, juicy burger. He asked me if a
half-pounder was a big burger and when I assured him it was, he ordered it
along with fries and onion rings. You
really can’t get too much of good, greasy food when you’ve passed your driver’s
test. I went with a burger and fries as
well, hoping that my stomach wouldn’t rebel.
It had been hurting off and on throughout the day and food didn’t seem
to make a difference.
Around
nine I suited up for a ride on the trainer.
My stomach had been getting worse throughout the evening and I thought
maybe a ride could improve things. Duh.
I was almost on the bike when I decided it was a foolish move and returned
to my room where I instead picked up a book to read while laying down. I need to find a stomach doctor, I suppose.
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