Easy as Cheesecake

I might as well tell all of you this now, I got my driver's license this morning. Don't worry, most of the roads are still safe. My parents have told me that I will not drive to anywhere except for Wal-Mart and Golden Gallon for the first month of having a license. Of course, as previous experiences with Golden Gallon have shown, this doesn't necessarily mean I'll be any safer. Cheers.

The driving test was phenomenally easy, however. I can't believe Alexie failed it. Of course, when she turned left she turned into the wrong lane, so maybe it is slightly understandable. On her second try, she drove around the entire testing site with her trunk open. Sigh. Alas for Alexie. Of course, I'm brilliant, and since she didn't require me to park in front of any gas stations I passed with flying colors.

I got a job!!!

Hey, I've heard there is a really bad economic downturn right now. Well, apparently it hasn't hit Chattanooga. I have received a job offer from the Physics department and have already gotten a job as a TA in the Chemistry lab from June 13-July 11. Perhaps nobody applies for this job because it starts at 8:00 in the morning and they don't want to have to wake up their cranky sister on a warm summer day to get her to drive him. That is possible. In my case, however, the economic profit exceeds the economic cost. Then again, this might be a heavy incentive for my parents to get me my driver's license so they won't have to put up with Alexie and me.

Fix-A-Flat

On Saturday, Carlock came down with a flat. (Carlock is the name of Alexie's car. She named it.) I was busy shooting the neighbor's kids (Bang!) when Dad called me and told me that today was the day I was going to learn to fix a flat.
Dad: Now, pay close attention Duncan. First shake this can of Fix-A-Flat vigorously (he demonstrates) and attach it the wheel. Then press this button.
We stared at the can for a while as it made noise like someone trying really hard to hold his breath.
Dad: Duncan, does it look like it's going in?
Duncan: Oh, sure Dad. (It wasn't, but hey. It was my first time. How should I know what fix-a-flat stuff going through a tube should look like?)
Dad: Hmm...
Dad then decided to take the tube off the tire and that was when the can erupted. Yellow fix-a-flat stuff was splurting out both the end of the tube and the base of the tube. Dad kept trying to reattach it, but it was too late. After all the air and all the chemical was out of the can, Dad depressedly stared at the mess of yellow goop all over Carlock's front tire and the garage floor.
If I were Thomas Edison, I would say, "It's not that I failed to learn how to fix a flat tire, it is that I learned one way not to fix a flat tire!"
Although... I still don't know exactly what was keeping the fix-a-flat foam from going through the tube...

Driving

Today Andrew is off to get his Driver's Permit. I asked Dad if I could get my license today, but the weather shut me down by icing all the roads. Curses. I don't think ice is all that dangerous and I could really impress my proctor by driving safely in dangerous conditions, but Dad would not hear it. Now Andrew and I will have our permits at the same time and I will have to suffer the inferiority complex of having a younger brother at the same stage of driving as I am. O me miseram!

Dad, the King of Traffic Signs

For the past few days we have been in Washington D.C. travelling around to all the museums, as you all probably know if you have been reading my blog. The entire trip Dad would save his parking spot at the hotel we were staying at by putting a "No Parking. Violators will be towed." sign in front of his parking spot whenever we left to get groceries or see a museum or something. That's kind of weird. Who's going to enforce that? I have no doubt that our van is large enough to tow away a car, but ever since Dad drove through standing water, we haven't been able to drive uphill without the power conking out. How could we tow a car? Anyway, some guy from New York moved the sign and parked in Dad's special spot anyway. Dad was really upset. Stupid New York.

Bad Passenger

I've come to the conclusion that I am a pretty good driver and everyone else is simply a bad passenger with a bunch of bad attitudes. While driving with Heather she said to me: "If I have to scream one more time, I will never take you driving again." I thought to myself "Well, you don't HAVE to scream, you only do that because you're retarded."

In addition I was driving somewhere I had never driven before and Heather gave me the wrong instructions. She told me to get into the right lane, which turned out to be a right turn only lane to get onto the interstate going the direction opposite to the one we wanted to go, so she yelled a bit and had me merge two lanes of traffic to get into the left lane which would turn onto the interstate going the right direction. Pssh.

Also, she is unduly obsessed with how I drive too close to the right side of the lane. "Duncan," she screams, "I am like SEVEN INCHES away from the car next to me!"
"Well, duh," I think, "The lanes are only a foot or two wider than our car."
The dumbest thing is that if I went any farther left I would crash into a concrete wall.
"You have a shoulder there and then a concrete wall," she sniffs airily. Personally, I would rather let the fast moving car to the right of me shave off the right side of the car and get rid of this annoying passenger.

Driving with Dad

Today, Dad drove me home from school. He had a meeting in the area and figured he could do me the tremendous favor of taking me home. Unfortunately driving with him is only slightly more safe than throwing rocks at beehives. I could have died multiple times.

He would constantly zoom along until he is trapped behind a person moving slower than he was whereupon he would honk his horn and flash his headlights and make a general nuisance of himself. I wish he would just be patient. It is one of the fruits of the Spirit after all.

It's odd because whenever I am in the driver's seat I only have to be going downhill before he is clutching his heart and screaming. (figuratively speaking.) I drive much safer than he does and yet he complains about my driving all the time. What a hypocrite.