god bless the RATP, the MTA, and taxis everywhere
I have always been what I like to refer to as “transportationally-challenged.” This is a nice way of saying that without public transportation I’m screwed. I blame this situation on outside sources, such as my mother or New York. Partially they are at fault, and partially I’m just a lazy fuck.
This was brought home to me this week when I presented my ID, as per usual, at the security desk of one of the big companies I tutor at. The hostess was new and therefore examined my ID more closely than normal. The other ladies recognize me now, and take my ID as part of standard procedure rather than a fact-finding mission.
This woman, however, took her job very seriously. After asking me what my last name is, mistaking my surname for my nationality, she proceeded to mark a little slip of paper with the date, time, the name of the man I was meeting, and my employer: Learner Permit.
Holding back the giggles, I realized that perhaps it’s time to do something about the whole not-knowing-how-to-drive THING. THING is in caps because that’s how I see it in my mind’s eye. It’s looming and big and scary. At 27, I’d rather give someone else the control over my safety than take that power in my own hands. Which is strange, because I’m otherwise a very independent woman. (I still don’t really think of myself as a woman. When will that change?)
This means that I might finally be ready to learn how to drive. But, walking before running, first I have to master the fine art of riding a bike. That’s where my mom comes into the picture.
I had a navy blue bike with training wheels. It was probably my sister’s before it was mine, but I don’t know. Neither of us was ever particularly attached to it. My mom would take me for rides around the block, until it was time to remove the training wheels. I blanched, and said I didn’t want to. Instead of insisting, as all other American mothers do, she just shrugged and said, “okay.”
Fast-forward roughly 17 years, and I have a whole list of things I’ve missed out on because of that shrug. My mom will say that it’s my fault, that I’ve had plenty of opportunities to learn since then, and if I haven’t I’m the only one to blame. And she’s right. But once you grow up a bit and realize that the whole business of balancing on a teeny edge of rubber is really scary, it gets harder to learn. That’s why we’re supposed to learn when we’re young and stupid. I missed that boat.
The summer I was 16, in Provence, I had to drive on highways with the counselor while the rest of my summer program biked through fields full of lavender and sunflowers. Visiting Julien in New Orleans I am kept at his mercy, only able to visit the French Quarter if he feels like driving me. In Italy, I can’t tour the wine country without a bus full of tourists.
Luckily Anna’s little old lady (i.e. her grandmother’s cousin) has an old bike from the 70s in her basement. Anna is going to fix it up, and teach me how to ride. For real this time. Because it’s time, because she’s relatively patient, but mostly because I finally feel ready.
Wish me luck on my travels.
