Drive Me to the Looney Bin

Alternative Title: Just Kill Me Now

When I moved to France, I didn’t know that getting a driver’s license would become the bane of my existence. Had I known, I would have set up temporary residence in PA, which is a transferrable state. (There are a bunch of states that transfer to a French driving license and a lot of them are on the East Coast, bordering NY on all sides (well, except the ocean), but NY itself is not one of them.

I would have driven legally with my NY license for the first year, which is allowed, just to familiarize myself with the french roads and make getting a French license a lot easier. Heck I would have gotten an international driver’s license! It’s the simplest thing one can possibly do in the States, and then I just had to transfer it over to a French one when I arrived with no hassle at all.

But I did nothing.

I first saw my need to get my license when we lived in Sceaux (pronounced « So »). There was not a good system of public transportation there and I had a toddler and was pregnant. After I gave birth, when I was still waking up four times a night to feed Young Knight, I handed over the 850€, because, you see, you are required to go through an auto ecole (a driving school) in order to get your license. And, you see, I was determined. I started studying for the code (written exam) and taking a few lessons.

I realized that it was going to be harder than I thought. For one thing, they have stupid rules, like giving priority for those coming in from the right. You can be on a main thoroughfare going 50 km an hour, but if there’s a tiny side-street with no signalization like a stop sign (that is not always easy to see), you have to down-shift to second and be prepared to stop to let some squirt insert himself into traffic.

For another thing, it is the law that you brake on a yellow light. So you have to go through each intersection with your feet hovering over the brake and the clutch just in case it might turn yellow at the last minute.

The roads in France are tiny, curvy, filled with one ways that you don’t always see right away. Sometimes the roads are paved, and sometimes they are cobblestones. At times, the paved road will swerve right where you encounter a one way sign (but the wrong way) and you were supposed to keep going straight, which really doesn’t resemble a road at all because it’s cobblestones, and there are little stone posts that make you think it’s a pedestrian area.

Well I didn’t get very far because we moved to La Defense. I had gotten a partial reimbursement of my money because we moved, but I still had to fork over 1,250€ to start all over. In this school, you couldn’t take any driving lessons until you had passed the Code. So I set myself to studying.

They warned me that it was about 60 hours of studying (I quietly snorted to myself), but they were not wrong. I even know of two rocket scientists who failed the Code the first time around. Okay, maybe that’s not saying much about their practical abilities.

But for the Code, you have to answer 40 questions with no more than 5 wrong. The answer can be A, or B, or C, or D. It can also be ABC or BC or AD or BD or ABD, etc. You get my point, right? If it’s ABD and you only put AB, it’s wrong.

And there’s an image of the road where, in order to answer the question, you have to examine the image from all sides – the rear view mirror, what’s ahead, the side view mirror. Is there a policeman behind. Is the car behind too close to you? Does it look like someone might try to pass you? Is a pedestrian actually going to cross the street or does it look like they’re just waiting patiently? Once I got an answer wrong because I didn’t know what “boar” was in French.

So, determined, I ran back and forth to the school, always late because I was pregnant again with Petit Prince and usually had to throw up before heading out. I went about 3 times a week, I studied at home with a DVD test kit. I did what I could. And I passed on the first try about 6 months later. Such a relief.

So on to the driving.

I recently read a book while on vacation that was sitting on the bookshelf and it was called (translation from French, although it was written by a Dutch priest), “I Survived Brain Washing in China.” It was during the Mao regime. I discovered that the way he was spoken to by his captors was not much different from how I was treated by my driving instructors.

I took my 20 hours, but it was not enough. I wanted desperately to take the test before I gave birth, but the instructor said in disgust (in the form of a yelling rant), “Why, you’re not even close! You need at least 20 more hours before I can present you!” etc. I went home in tears.

Determined, I insisted and found another instructor who presented me at 38 weeks pregnant.

But I failed.

You see, you can have a stop light in the middle of a street that has no intersection. It was at the exit of a factory. And the examiner was directing my attention to further up where he wanted me to turn left (which I was trying to translate, decipher where he was indicating and not go into labor). Failed. Screwed.

I gave birth, waited a few months before trying again. I found a friend to watch Petit Prince a couple times a week, got a new teacher (from the same school, because no other school would take me as a transfer).  And this guy was so bitter about his life that I had to cajole him and yes him and say what a great teacher he was. Something like this.

Him: No one told ever you to do that before, did they?

Me: No, it’s really useful for me to know that.

Him: Yes, that’s why my style of teaching is really great. You learn things with me. I don’t want to say anything about ________, but you won’t learn those kinds of things with him.

Me: Yes, I’m so lucky (stifle a yawn).

Another 30 lessons later (up to date I think I’ve spent 3500€), I finally pushed him to present me for the license again because we were changing departments in our upcoming move. He said that I was not ready in any way and that he would only present me because I was leaving, otherwise no way.

So this time the examiner was a real charmer. He grunted at me to go and I was trembling with nerves at this point. We pulled almost immediately into a huge intersection, where, once again I drove like an American instead of a French person.

Question: What’s the goal when you enter an intersection?

Answer: To get out of it as quickly and safely as possible so as not to bother the oncoming traffic or those behind you.

But that’s not how it works in France. You can pull into a major intersection – like a heart with all it’s aortas and valves, and you’ll have a light that allows you to enter the intersection, and then you can also come up against another light or a stop sign smack dab in the middle of this huge intersection that you have to respect in order to get out.

Once again he told me to turn left and I had to figure out which left he meant because there were three. I asked him as the car ahead of me started moving and I started following him …  and ran the stop sign.

So yes, my fault, but still.

The rest of the exam was a disaster because I knew I had already failed. And when I had to stop and open the hood of the car to point to where the transmission was (oh yes – you have to know the body of the car inside and out and answer two questions randomly chosen), I couldn’t even open the hood because I was trembling so much. He made a snide comment about what a loser I was; and indeed, I could barely even push down the lever to make toast for weeks afterwards.

Bon. I put all that behind me to enter into the joys of SAHMommyhood with a crawling baby in major construction for the next year and a half. But once the holidays were over, I did start to think about that dang license again because I only have 6 more months before my Code expires and I would have to start even the written part over again if I don’t get it now.

Why do I need my license, you ask? Well besides not wasting our entire Saturdays grocery shopping with three small kids in tow, there are also days like yesterday. My Wednesdays.

9:00 Walk 15 mn to drop YK off at the centre, YL off at dance, another 10 mns to drop PP off at crèche. Come back and pick up YL from dance, walk home. Clean the house in preparation for my English classes. Feed YL then walk 20 mns uphill to drop her off at her centre (in a different place), walk home. Prepare my lessons. Teach 3-5. Walk the 20 mns uphill to pick up YL, then walk to pick up PP then walk to pick up YK, then walk home. In all kinds of weather.

You can see why I might need a license right?

You say that it’s good exercise. But now I don’t feel sporty and energized. I feel like my legs are encased in cement and I collapse in my bed at the end of the day, not knowing how I can continue.

So I persisted. I called a school near me to start up lessons. Uh nope. You’re a transfer who has already failed the test. We can’t take you. The Préfecture only gives us a certain number of spots and we need to give them in priority to our current students who have been with us since the beginning.

I called 4 more schools in the area. Same thing.

After going to bed early that night “on strike,” as I put it, while my husband looked on concernedly (afraid I would carry out my threat to move back to the States where people are civilized), I got a fresh approach the next morning.

Sir had said that we should have done “accompanied driving,” which was a special status that allows you to clock a certain number of hours with someone like your husband, and then take the test afterwards through the auto ecole.

The catch? It takes a year.

However, given how long it has taken me, that would have been the best move ever.  It just always seemed like I would get my license so much faster the traditional way taking lessons.

I thought, why not go for that now, even if it means I lose my Code and have to re-take that in the meantime? So, with that thought, I called back the first school, the one that is the closest to me, and asked if that would be an option. She said no, it would still come to the same thing.

So I said, “What? I can’t have my license ever? For the rest of my life? I can’t take lessons anywhere just because I’m a transfer who already took the test and failed?”

Finally, I saw a glimpse of humanity behind the French Bureaucratic Robot and she said I could come in for a survey as to my level, but she was promising NOTHING. I arranged everything to go today where I have to say I did pretty well for not having driven in a year and a half. The instructor (who is about 19) said I was too cautious, like an old lady, so eager was I to not forget anything.

But it finally came down to the fact that they’re going to give me a chance and try to present me before I lose my Code. That for a mere 1,250€ more.

After I handed my check over and licked the floor at her feet all the way out the door, I came home to where I just had to pour my heart out to all of you. I thought I would be too late to link up to Shell’s Pour Your Heart Out series, but it looks like I still have time. So here goes 20 more hours of driving and another stressful exam that I will find nothing short of miraculous to actually pass.

I just had to get all that out so it doesn’t drive me crazy.

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