A Valet Remembers Getting His Driver's Permit

As a valet, I've worked valet parking gigs at from casinos to airports to private functions. I've met a lot of interesting people and seen a lot of crazy things, but nothing brings back early driving memories more than working a Sweet Sixteen party. Why? Because every one of the partygoers has just received her driver's license or driving permit and pulls up to the event thinking she's the greatest, coolest driver in the world. I know this for sure because I was just like them when I got my license. As I hand out the valet parking tickets, I'm reminded of the day I got my own driver's permit.

It was the middle of a school week and my dad was surprised that I was up early, even joining him for some pancakes at the breakfast table. Of course, when I didn't leave for school, he started to figure something was up. I explained that this was the day I was old enough to take my driver's test and get my permit. He wondered why Driver's Permit Day was suddenly a national school holiday. I had to bring in the heavy artillery and remind him that Mom had given the thumbs up on skipping my morning classes for this once-in-a-lifetime event. Realizing he was stuck taking me, he used a little parental double-psychology and said he'd take me as soon as I cleaned my room. Fifteen minutes later my room was immaculate and he was amazed. (It wasn't until some months later that he learned I had simply shoved all my dirty clothes and garbage into suitcases and tossed them in the garage).

At the Department of Motor Vehicles, I whipped through the written test and minutes later had my driving permit. My dad was concerned. He thought there should be more testing before I was allowed to get behind the controls of two tons of speeding metal. Unfortunately for him, the written test was all the state required and I quickly put my hands out for the car keys. Just as quickly he retorted that if he was going to allow me to smash up the car, it would have to be a lot closer to home. Someplace in our neighborhood where the worse thing I could crash into would be the Henderson's trash cans.

The whole ride home I kept asking if we were close enough to home to let me drive. My dad just kept shaking his head until we came to the top of our street. I complained that we could practically roll home from this distance. He said that rolling home would suit him just fine. I quickly switched seats with him, locked in my seatbelt, adjusted my mirrors and was ready to hit the open road. Unfortunately when I pushed down on the accelerator we didn't move an inch--I had forgotten to shift from Park to Drive. Hey, easy mistake.

Once I got the Drive thing figured out, we were on our way. My father cautioned me about feeling out the brake, but I didn't truly understand the meaning of this until we came to a stop sign and I pretty much jammed on the brakes and sent my dad's head jerking forward at the windshield. He suggested I might want to save "jamming" the brake pedal for when he wasn't in the car. He didn't appreciate it when I mentioned that at least we knew his seat belt was operating properly.

As we proceeded down the street, I came up to my first traffic light. Being the experienced driver I was, now almost a solid sixty seconds behind the wheel, I noticed the light had turned yellow and so I proceeded with caution. That is until my father screamed for me to "Go! Go! Go!" and get through the intersection. Apparently I was proceeding with so much caution that the light had turned red and oncoming cars were heading directly for my father's passenger-side door. I screamed back to my dad that he needed to stop screaming. According to the book, I was in the intersection first and therefore I had the right of way. My father agreed, but mentioned that "right of way" doesn't help you when you're being pried out of your car by the Jaws of Life.

The remainder of our ride home was pretty uneventful. I pulled into our driveway and only hit one half-empty trash can. That's not that bad for a first day. Of course, when my father got out of the car, he did not share in my good feelings. I distinctly remember him wobbling out of the car door and then kneeling to the ground and kissing it; his way of saying he was ecstatic to have made it home in one piece. And so was my first experience as a new automobile driver.

Well, pretty soon the Sweet Sixteen party will be breaking up and the partygoers will be handing me their valet tickets for their cars. I can only imagine how these newbies will barely navigate the traffic on the way home before they turn into their driveways and hit a garbage can or two.

 

 

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