Driving with the Devil (all 8 million of them)

On the day I turned 16, my mom (bless her heart) and I went to the DMV in Apple Valley, MN without an appointment, stood in line and hung out on the lawn of the testing center watching the hired pedestrians pacing around the side of the road. The days before I had diligently practiced parallel parking (I knew my weakness!) our old Chrysler minivan in our driveway, and then suffered a minor freakout when, for some reason that evades me now, there was a last-minute substitution for my dad's Toyota Celica. You'd think I would be thrilled, because Celica > Caravan any day, but I hadn't practiced! I didn't know where the hazard light button was!

So, it was with pounding heart I sat in the driver's seat, looking frantically for that little red triangle without being obvious as one of the largest men I have ever seen tried to squeeze himself into the bucket seat of the Celica. I bet he was wishing for the Caravan. He managed to get his bulk, plus his clipboard, safely buckled in, and we were off! At a screaming 20 mph! I even managed to parallel park, even though I was a bit far away from the curb. That, and "not inspecting the intersection before I entered on a green light" were my only infractions, so I had passed! Happy birthday to me!

Fast-forward 13 years later, and once again I found myself needing to pass a driving test. I had started the bureaucratic process of converting my US license to an Israeli one 6 months ago: getting an eye exam, detouring to renew my visa, getting permission from the Misrad haRishui (the Israeli DMV) to schedule a lesson and exam, scheduling said lesson and exam, going to the post office to pay fees. I had a contact of a driving instructor from fellow Ulpan students who had successfully changed their license. At 7:30 one Sunday morning, he met me outside of the University for my 20 minute behind-the-wheel lesson. I have been driving in Israel on my US license for over a year. There's nothing like learning by immersion, so this lesson was more a formality - "so you can't say you've never heard this before." I was shocked to hear him tell me to "stay on the right" and to "not enter the intersection on yellow" and to "give right-of-way to pedestrians" and to "always signal when turning" because I was certain these rules had disappeared from Israeli memory. "You're technically not supposed to use your horn except in case of emergency but no one enforces THAT rule." Ah, okay, that's better.

It took a month before I was scheduled for an exam. I was given an appointment at 8:20 am, which meant full-on Jerusalem rush-hour traffic. Joy. As I dropped Ron off at work, his one piece of advice? "Don't drive like an Israeli. You drive well, but don't drive like you normally do." Um, okay, thanks?! When I arrived to the testing center, I chatted with the other couple who shared my appointment. They were a nice young religious couple from the States, who were on their second try. They had horror stories about the woman who tested them the first time: she grabbed the steering wheel, she used her brakes, she screamed. Her goal in life, it seemed, was to fail drivers. This was far removed from most of the stories I had heard, where the instructor just wants to make sure you've driven before and have control of the vehicle.

Finally, our instructor arrived, and true to the apparent trend I have, he was thankful the instructor's car was a practical sedan and not a Celica. I sat in the backseat as the couple took their turns: 10 minutes or so of aimless driving around the Talpiyot section of Jerusalem. This meant many cars, many round-abouts, many small streets. Both of them seemed to be driving scared, but they were fine. It also was apparent that the instructor was not out to trick anyone. His vocabulary consisted of "right... left... pull over... change drivers." Then it was my turn, and we basically just had to return to the testing center. I was on my best behavior: no horn-honking, no quick moves to pull into the round-abouts, no maneuvers to get around buses. And then it came: I was on a two-way street that had only enough room for one car at a time. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a Brinks van came barreling down the street with no signs of slowing down. I had to slam on the breaks and pull my nose over. And I could have SWORN the tester used his brake. That's it, I thought, it's over. I failed. He used his brake.

Now, due to some unpleasant incidents in the past, you don't find out on the spot whether or not you pass the test. Instead, I had all day to convince myself I had failed the test. And I did a fine job of it: I had drawn out scenario after scenario of being disgraced. A failure! She can't drive, even well enough by Israeli standards!

At 4:36 I took a deep breath and called my instructor to find out my results. "Hi Erin, how are you?" "Fine... I think. You tell me."

Dum-dah-dummmm.

"Oh, there is no problem. You passed."

I actually felt the weight being lifted from my shoulders. Whew! So, after another trip to the Misrad haRishui, I am the proud holder of an Israeli license. Not as proud as I thought I'd be, because I'm only here on a visa so I have only a flimsy piece of paper that has to be renewed every six months. No pretty plastic card with a bad picture for me. At least I don't have to take the test again!