The Day I Made the Driving Tester Cry

I'm back. As I said in the last post, Washington DC was our next destination. I've been here for two months, hubby for three, and it's been an interesting (if somewhat boring) experience thus far. We made the fiscally responsible choice of suburbia over Dupont Circle or Georgetown, and as a result I'm going slightly desparate housewife-ish. But we're meeting nice people and most importantly, I've found three H&M's nearby...

Part of relocating to a new country, as many of you know, is having to establish your existance. Opening a bank account, getting cell phones, a land line, etc. Maryland has a law which states that if a person moves from overseas to Maryland, their license is valid for only two months. As that period was rapidly approaching, I made an appointment to transfer my license. By transfer, I mean I had to take a 3 hour drug and alcohol awareness class (which I finished in under an hour) and then take the theory and practical tests all over again. I read and reviewed the driving laws, filled up the car and made my was to the DMV. I was confident in all but one thing - my parallel parking.

Now, before you start making female driver jokes, let me make it clear that I am an excellent driver, with an admittedly aggressive/defensive streak, but I've never had an accident in the 5+ years that I've had a license, but average parallel parking skills. However, in the two months since I've arrived, I have not needed to parallel park once. Nope - not a single time. Therefore, the night before the test, I pushed the boundaries of my marriage and placed hubby in the passenger seat and drove around till we found a street with some cars that I could park between. After an hour's practice, I felt confident of my abilities, and we went home. Hubby received big brownie points for his equanimity and the ability to remain calm under bad parking.

Day of the Test - I sail through the theory exam, mentally hit myself for giving my true weight on the license and not taking of 10 pounds, and head around the back of the building for the practical exam. As the tester walks towards my car, I mentally groan. He appears to have all the humanity of a corpse. I put on my brightest smile (thank you mom and dad for 2.5 years of braces) and cheerfully greet the tester. He asks to see my license and says,
"Oooh, an Israeli license! What part of the country are you from?"
I sense an ally and make my move.

"Jerusalem. It's gorgeous. Have you been?"

I make a friend. To make a long story short, the tester was a Republican, pro-Israeli/anti-Muslim war veteran. I played my cards right and we end up shmoozing for 15 minutes before the test begins. At one point in our conversation, I mention that both of my grandfathers had been WW II veterans, and he asks if I've seen the Holocaust Museum in Washingon DC. I tell him that I'm a tour guide at Yad Vashem. He then does something I've never seen a middle-aged male driving tester do. He begins to cry.

"I'm sorry, the Holocaust just upsets me so. Those people..."

As he composes himself, I pat his hand and lay the final snare to ensure that I pass.

"Don't worry. It's wonderful that you can feel so deeply in this time and age."

Cue the violins and gagging sounds.

When I slightly bungled the parallel parking, the tester walked me through it and ensured that I got perfect marks.

To make a long story short, I now have a lovely Marlyand license with a FANTASTIC picture. When I called hubby to tell him that I made the tester cry, his (predictable) remark was:

"Was your driving that bad?"