Driving a van is harder than it looks!

When my sister Ellie was in college, she did this ministry called Clubhouse, where every Thursday afternoon they'd pick up a bunch of little kids (children of immigrants and refugees) from their apartments and take them to a church and hang out with them. They just played games and ate snacks and "built relationships" and then they took them home again. They needed to drive the college vans since it's a college ministry. At the time, she had her mini-van license, because it was just a written test. Unfortunately, they sometimes had more kids then will fit in the mini-vans, so she went to take the driving test to get a permit for the 15- passenger vans. Here it is, in her own words...

To start off, he gets there twenty minutes late, without a word of apology. Not one word. At this point, though, I was still under the impression that he was a nice guy. So, I give him the benefit of the doubt, and say, "Nice to meet you." If I had only held my tongue for fifteen minutes I could have saved myself from such a blatant lie. It was not nice, in the least bit, to meet him. Anyway, he says, "Hi Emily." OK, that's forgivable.

I just play along. Then he looks at the sheet with my name on it (Elizabeth Tschamler), and he says, "Wait - this isn't you."
And I say, "Ummm . . . yes it is."
And he says, "No it's not - this is wrong."
And I say, "Yes, that's me."
And he says, "I'll show you what I have down." He goes and gets his little notebook and shows me that he has "Ellie Chandler" written down.
I laugh casually and say, "Oh, Ellie is a nickname for Elizabeth, and Chandler is Tschamler spelled wrong." Woah - should not have said that one. Didn't mean to offend the man. He muttered, "Whatever" and handed me the key.
So, I start heading out the door to the van. "Where do you think you're going? We're not done here."
"Sorry - I didn't know."
So then he gave me this spiel about how we have to pick the keys up before 4:30, yadda yadda yadda. So finally I head out to the van and I unlock my side and as I'm halfway in, he says something from his side, but I can't hear him because I'm already in, so I reach over and open his door for him. "Fine, DON'T use the automatic locks." Woah dude . . . my bad. He gives me some more spiel, all the while grumbling about how inconsiderate people are. Then he says, "OK, drive up the hill and turn left."
"What hill?" I ask innocently.
"The one right here," he responded rudely, as if I were the most ignorant person he had ever met in his life. So I drive up the hill (which was really just the little spout to the Auto Shop) and we drive along for a while, and he sits there scrutinizing my every move. Talk about an uncomfortable situation.
So the test is going along fine, when he says, "What's the speed limit here?"
"30 miles per hour," I respond, proud that I know the correct speed.
"How fast are you going?" he inquires accusingly, even though he already knew the answer.
"35 miles per hour," I answer sheepishly.
"That's a warning. One more and we're done."
Driving . . . driving . . . "You have failed. Go back to the Auto Shop."
"Woah, what? What did I do?"
"You failed to slow down through the school zone when kids are present.
We're done," he declared, without a hint of sympathy. I saw the zone, but I didn't even see the school, much less children present. Something told me to keep this to myself though. OK, I'm thinking, THIS SUCKS. "Take a left at this light." I get into the left lane, being careful to check my mirrors and my blind spot. I don't know why, now that I think about it. I should have just gone crazy on him.

Anyway, I pull out into the intersection and wait for a break in traffic to turn left. Once again, a bad move. There is no break, even on the yellow, so I have to wait until it's red and quite obviously run a red light. On my driver's test. Well, there's two automatic fails. What else could I do? He didn't comment about the red light, however . . . not yet.

So I keep driving along, knowing that he's about to bust out in a big ole lecture, when he says, "This isn't a right, you know, it's a priveledge. We don't have to offer these vehicles to you." Driving . . . driving. So there's this delivery truck parked on the side of the road (where there's no parking lane). It's a calm road, so I gently guide the van into the other lane to get around it. Driving . . . driving. "You know, I don't know if I'll EVER give you a van permit," he declared.
By this time I had learned that we were NOT going to reach an understanding, so I milked it: "WHAT DID I DO NOW?" I growled, reaching my wit's end. I really had no idea what I did wrong.

"What if that other car hadn't pulled to the side of the road?" There wasn't even a car. OK, no, that's a lie . . . there WAS a car, like two stinkin' blocks away! And it DIDN'T pull to the side of the road. Once again, I chose to keep my disdainful thoughts to myself, but I rolled my eyes QUITE obviously in his direction. "I don't have to let you drive this van. I thought you would have at least slowed down, but no. You decided to play chicken. Well let me tell you something: if you want to play chicken, don't do it with me or any other students in the van. As a matter of fact, don't do it in the college van at all!" He was red faced and screaming. His vein was popping out in his neck, and I thought he might keel over right then and there.

So, I drove us back to the Auto Shop in silence, and when we got back, he said, "You can retake the test in thirty days. See you then."

FAT CHANCE, I thought. FAT CHANCE.