Grand Theft Auto: Australia

The answer to this question ? No.
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Some have asked me how the mooning of Punky came to be. My lips are sealed. But I will say this much: it happened at the dining table. And we couldn't look each other in the eye for a long while after.

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Recently, I have been informed by my housemates that Asians here are stereotyped as being terrible drivers. I was awash in indignation at the time, but I think I need now to hang my head in shame.

I have been terrorizing drivers in the vicinity of my university recently. I have also, I surmise, knocked off a healthy number of years from the life expectancy of my beleaguered driving instructor, the Scotsman.

The Scotsman, when he first appeared at my door, turned out to be a small, boisterous man with a near-unintelligible Scottish accent so thick you could smell the heather. "Wis yer nam?" he asked me. I told him. "Ahhh, same as me auld gelfriend!" I laughed. "I hope she was good to you!" He grinned evilly at me. "Ach, she wa' a'right."

The Scotsman has a deeply unsettling habit of humming rather loudly when I'm driving, usually something that sounds vaguely Scottish. The humming increases in volume as my driving becomes more dangerous, usually culminating in a quick correction of the wheel and a "Dear god, missus!"

He calls me his "clever l'il Vegemite" when I've gotten something right. Though after the first few weeks, I think there's been precious little of that.

When I first started learning how to drive, many moons ago when I was doing my first degree, I was a careful, tentative driver who envisioned herself being one of those people who morph effortlessly into a brilliant, seasoned driver, making tight sharp U-turns and never mowing down little children. But then life and work intervened, and I never really got around to taking the final driving test, even though I spent a hell of a lot of money getting right up to the brink of it. *shakes fist at SSDC*

Now, many years later and onto my second degree, I've lost the healthy fear youth lends your driving and have instead gained the impatience of having been part of the slaving workforce, with none of the experience, which makes for deeply hazardous driving. Shifting down to second gear from fourth when taking corners seems like a pain, so I just shift to third and ride the clutch while I scream round them at about 40 km/h. My revs hit about 5000 and the engine shrills when I pump it for a red-light start. And blind spots? Pffft.

For those reasons, as well as the ones below, I need to buy a massive box of King Edward miniature cigars for The Scotsman when I finally come back here after the semester break.

1. "Watch out for the auld lady!" The Scotsman hollers as I barrel down the freeway. Then he clucks at me in disbelief and says, "I tell you about the auld lady, and ye speed up!"
2. While changing gears - "Smooth as a babby's bottom, not rough like a dinosaur!" he yells when I slam the gears home.
3. I simply don't have an instinct about left and right. It takes me a second at least to work out which is which. Which was why I ended up going in the wrong direction on a roundabout. Which was why The Mad Scotsman started screaming, "Left, nor bluidy right!" Which was why I panicked and wrenched the wheel to the left. Which was how I ended up ON the roundabout. ("Me poor car!" he wailed.)
4. Recently, while trying to turn right on a busy freeway, found myself having to change gear, check my mirror and try and try to slow down from the suicidal speed I had accelerated up to, which was why I didn't notice my car drifting to the right until I laid paint on the road divider. ("Me poor car!" he wailed again. I hear that a lot)

His car is a shiny three-month-old Hyundai. And he STILL thinks I'm pretty good. He used to teach little children. The equimanity with which he views my driving makes me think that perhaps teachers should get danger pay.