License to Ill – Endgame

Just my luck to try and get a driving license in the most uptight, unreasonably anal country in the fucking world.

They put you in a car and set you off on a ridiculously long journey, drifting in an ocean of poor driving and blatant disregard for the traffic rules all around you, and expect you to put down a literally spotless performance. It’s a nearly unbearable pressure, especially in my case, where the success of my summer and future career depends on whether I can drive one of those tin cans. And when you’re finished, they tell you, with friendly smile and their dumbshit little list on their lap, that you failed.

Fucking failed.
Time and time again. Failed, failed. It was all good, except that one wheel on the curb when you parked. Fail.

As a stage tech, I’m used to pressure. Often, the success of a performance involving the blood, sweat and tears of a dozen people, depends on my capability to handle a complex machine so that it shits out emotion on the other side. I’ve had good days, I’ve had bad days, but never have I had an asshole breathing over my shoulder, watching everything I do, and declaring my performance as a failure as soon as I make a mistake.
Hell- I was just driving a tank-sized forklift yesterday. It’s one of the things I operate on a regular basis. But a car? No, sir.
It is frustrating as hell, let me tell you.

On that giant shit-shaped pile of rules (yay rules) along the lines of “Hindering a car who has right of way means fail fail fail, sucker!”, there is the law that says that after 2 failed attempts, you must get 6 hours of lesson from an official driving school. You can tell that they’re official by the fact that their CEO owns a few islands in the Pacific. They are so ludicrously overpriced, it’s just obscene. Add to that, that I can’t work for a full day every single fucking lesson and the fact that even the exam itself costs €35 (so adding up to €105), and you might realize that this whole misplaced joke is beginning to cost me close to a thousand fucking euros. This while I am living on water and bread so I can afford to travel for a month.

“So lessons it is, then?”
-“I can’t afford that.”
-“What alternatives do you have?”
-“None! I got no alternatives! I have no choices whatsoever here! Nothing!”

I had to walk out at this point, as I heard my voice getting louder, more than ready to get hostile. I just turned my back and left, and if the whole fucking neighborhood wasn’t staring at me like cows at a train, I would have thrown the car keys to the other side of the parking lot- preferably in the river.
Perhaps I’ll find a way to try again, but not today. Today, I wouldn’t care if the whole place burned down with those smug instructors inside. All you cock suckers with your laughable rules, laws and regulations, I hope you suffer an airbag malfunction and collide with a truck transporting all the bullshit you dickweeds produce. I hope you get pulled over by the police for speeding while taking your burning children to the hospital. May a student you personally passed back over your new kitten. Die.

I’m done with this nonsense. But then, I was done with it weeks ago. It’s something I’ll have to pull through with the fakest smile I have ever pulled out of my ass, and when I ever get that pointless license, I will wave it out the window while drifting over their spouse.


One response

  1. Dieter

    I’m not a licensed psychologist, yet I seem to sense a teeny bit of unbridled anger in this post…
    Not sure if it’s the burning children or the bedrifted spouse though…

    17 July 2014 at 01:01

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