6/18/2012

Meeting Sketchy Guys on Street Corners

I get off the subway and find myself in the heart of the city. Even though I've lived less than an hour away from the metropolitan area for the past twelve years, I don't know my way around. Hence, the tourist map I cling on to for dear life.

I have been told to meet him by the YMCA.

The city is loud and bustling and I hasten my steps every once in a while when putrid smells waft over from the drains. Even the Starbucks (oh haven of middle class artsy conformers!) I pass looks bare and dingy. Cigarette stubs litter the sidewalk, as do pieces of gum, hard, flat, and gray with time.

I finally approach the YMCA on the corner. It is 9:54. Whew, six minutes to spare. I walk around the block, view my surroundings, and see the likely car.

The man standing by the car looks to be in his mid to late fifties. He stands a couple of inches taller than me, has a potbelly, a roundish face, and hair that is gray at the roots and dyed orangey-red at the tips. He wears aviators and in his hands is a half finished cigarette.

"Hi." I offer him a tentative smile. "Are you… Sam?"

He confirms this and tells me to get in. The forty-five scheduled minutes goes better than I had hoped. Sam turns out to be pretty nice, chooses good music, and gives clear directions as to what he wants me to do.

We get back to the YMCA at 10:47 and I jump out of the car, a little rattled because it is my first time. "Well, I thought it went really well. See you next week!" I say as I snatch my bag.

"See you," says Sam.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, ends my first driving lesson.

Because I'm tired of having to whip out my passport every time people ask me for identification.

.~.

Okay, so I feel a little bad for making my driving instructor into a sketchball for the sake of this writing exercise. Let me reiterate that he was very nice and helpful and professional, if lacking in the looks department.

Update: Guess who got her driver's license in 27 days? Yee haw!