The Best Student Driver in the World

It’s official.  I’m old.

At least, when I come to Wellington for the weekend, hire a rental car, and don’t get to drive it because my first-born now has her licence, I’m pretty sure it means I’m old.

It was inevitable.  From the day she was born the countdown was on towards the hair-greying knuckle-biting pants-peeing journey into adulthood.  And that was just my journey.

Maybe because she feels some residual guilt over the 36 hour labour which culminated in the use of giant salad-servers to get her out because she was quite comfortable lying sideways thank-you-very-much, the experience was an absolute dream.

You know.  One of those dreams where you hang on to the side of the bed with a death-grip because you feel like you’re going to fall to your death at any moment.

I guess I’ve had plenty of time to prepare myself. 

I WAS the one that offered to pay for her to sit her test.  

I MAY have been the one that made Neil buy her a Road Code to learn the rules.

I MIGHT also have been a little guilty of telling her that once she had her learners she could do all the driving whenever she was with me.

That doesn’t mean she needed to hold me to it.

The rental company could have been a little suspicious when I stipulated that I must have an automatic this time (despite asking specifically for a manual the last twelve times I’ve hired from them);  when I asked them if someone born in 1996 was allowed to drive their cars (the answer was “ no”);  and when I scribbled out her name on the rental contact (saying “pffft, of course not, hahahaha oh silly me, she’s only 16, why on earth did I put THAT on there?”); but I’m sure I covered my tracks well.   

Anyway - who are they to tell me who can drive their cars and who can’t? 

When he kindly pointed out that there was no insurance cover whatsoever if by some freaky coincidence there DID happen to be a sixteen year old driving with a name similar to that which I’d just crossed out, I just laughed at him.

I’ve taught people how to fly aeroplanes.  What could possibly go wrong?

The Big Plan was for Maz to meet me in town after I got the car so that she could drive back to Upper Hutt (where she’d just in fact come from) for us to pick up Tyra and drive back into town.  I know, I know… the train fare was more than the cost of driving back and forth to Upper Hut twentysix times to pick up Tyra, but we were both excited and ready to get going on our adventure together.

I wasn’t sure where I was going to buy L-plates from so Maz organised for her grandparents to drop off the ones they had bought in preparation for her driving lessons with them.  They dropped them off in plenty of time for her to catch her train, which would have been awesome had she not forgotten them.  

After ringing me seven times as soon as I cleared customs to ask where I was and tell me that she’d forgotten them, I told her to meet me at the local Z station so we could buy some more.  When she rang me the eighth time I answered even though by this stage I was driving and knew I shouldn’t have.  Unfortunately I looked over to see a Police car (Bernie please forgive me) and I panicked, but using Kiwi-Ingenuity I devised my own hands-free kit so I could keep talking to her.

OK, so putting my phone on ‘speaker’ and putting it on my lap miiiiiiight not hold up in a court of law, but the intention was pure.  When I stopped at the lights and they could see right into my lap I had to pretend I was singing to the radio. 

“Cal-I-FOR-nya girls, we’re unfor-GET-able so Maz, they don’t have plates?  Sun kissed skin, so hot we’ll have to sort something out. Cal-I-FOR-nya girls la la, I’ll go in and ask when I get there, fine fresh fierce oh-shit-I-don’t-know-the-rest-of-the-words see you soon darling!”

I’m pretty sure they bought it.

After taking the wrong turn in Wellington CBD and then fixing it by taking a shortcut then finding out there’s roadworks and the road was closed, and having to make another diversion then driving past a guy urinating against his van in the middle of Cuba Mall and shaking my head at the pedestrians that also saw it, then nearly running over the little asian lady with a baby (it’s not THAT bad, the baby was safe in its pram..) I wondered if I was really up for the task.

But as I pulled up to the petrol station and saw my beautiful wee baby sitting by the gutter calling me for the ninth time on her phone looking like no one owned her, all my doubts disappeared. 

Of course I could do this!  Of course she could do this!  Of course we hopefully won’t kill anyone! 

And if we do she’s too young for jail anyway.

I went into the petrol station to ask if they had any L-plates.  I didn’t think I was being unreasonable expecting a petrol station to have them – or to even know what they were.  It’s not like I went into Bras ‘n’ Things and asked for them.  Although, as it turns out, I may as well have.

As I had to drive out to Upper Hutt due to our lack of L-plates, I made the most of it and talked Maz through what she’d be doing on the way back into town.

“Wait… am I driving into TOWN??”

“Erm, well, yes?  It’s not really that different to if you were driving OUT of town like we planned…?”

“But, like, on the MOTORWAY and stuff?”

I’m unsure at this moment whether she got the best strain of my comprehension-genes.

“Uh… well… I guess?  Are you happy with that?  You don’t have to?”

“Um, holy shit, oh my god, it’s like the MOTORWAY, oh em gee!”

So now I’m beginning to have second thoughts as well.

We pull up to The Father’s house and Ty comes running out ready to jump in the car.  Maz goes inside to get the forgotten L-plates.

In the meantime, Sister-To-Another-Mother comes running up to me.

“Karolyn!  Haha I like your video, you’re soooo funny!”

“Hi Hadleigh!  Um, what video?”

“The one and you’re being really funny and silly and stuff!”

I turn to look at Ty.

“Um, Tyra Lee Hazel Messer… is she talking about the ‘Australian Idol auditions’ videos…?”

 Yep”.

“The one that you and I made over the Xmas break where I was being a complete dick because I didn’t expect that anyone other you and I would see them???”

“Yep”.

“The one where I sang ‘And I-ei-I-I-I-I Will Always Looooooooooooooove You’ even though I can’t sing?”

“Yep”.

“And I pretended to be called ‘Sheila’ and I flashed my butt at you when you pressed your buzzer and told me I was useless??”

“Yep”.

 Well.  I know where her loyalties lie.  The situation was not helped at all by The Father adding his two cents worth, something about “surely you were drunk?” and “still can’t sing” and “wish I’d never seen it but it was funny laughing at you”.

For those of you reading this, this is my final will and testament.   Tyra gets nothing.

After emerging with the appropriate stickers, plastering them on the car, and jumping in the driver’s seat, it appeared Maz was ready so I gave Ty a safety briefing. 

“Ty, give your Dad a kiss goodbye.  Maz is driving.”

The Father looks like a goldfish. 

“What?  WHAT?  Like, driving, WHERE?”

“Um, to the supermarket, that’s all.  Just down the road a little bit to the supermarket.”

I know I’m no longer on his life insurance certificate, so there’s no practical use in aggravating matters.

“What the ****, she’s DRIVING??  Like, ****, this car?  Where the ****, OMG Madison you can’t drive what the ****??”

“Um, well she’s got her learners… she has to start somewhere.  Give her a little bit of credit!”

Then I wonder briefly if it’s not Maz he’s worried about.

“Pffft… “  I wave my hand at him.  “I can teach people how to fly.  This will be a breeze!”

Then I remember he’s seen me drunk.  And naked.  And dancing.   And quite possibly all three at the same time.  And I can’t help but sympathise with him as it probably wasn’t the epitome of someone with a lot of:

a) grace

b) skill or

c) co-ordination.

By this time, Little Miss The Stig is established the driver’s seat and I’m preparing her for the journey. 

“Righto missy, get your seat comfortable.  Not too high, but close enough to reach the pedals.  Adjust your mirror so you can see out the back, fix your wing mirrors so you can see down either side of the car and beyond.  Make sure the steering wheel is at the right height, and put your seatbelt on.  Ty, jump in and hang on for dear life”.

All The Father could offer was along the lines of “****en hell, how far is she driving?  What the hell?  Maz just remember you know nothing, don’t be smart and don’t think you know everything, jesus, she can’t drive, what the hell are you thinking??”

I’m ashamed to admit that all it did was spur me on.  C’mon my angel, we’re hittin’ that motorway!!

We left The Father’s with a lasting memory of him standing in the driveway with his hand on his forehead trembling - and quite possibly crying - yelling “I love you Ty… I love you…”

Three seconds into the journey Little Miss The Stig decided she’d quite like to drive to Nana and Pa’s to show them she was driving.  I’m wavering… they are so cautious they make The Father look like one of the Jackass cast.  Never the less, this was her moment, so off we went.

That, and she was driving - so I didn’t really have much choice. 

Pulling up to their house she was quite subtle in letting them know we were there.  She only beeped the horn 17 times – there were no donuts or wheel spins to alert them to our arrival.

Pa popped out from behind the garage, and not recognising the car, came down the drive for a closer look.  He still hadn’t realised what was going on until Little Miss The Stig beeped the horn a further six times and leant over me to wave out the passenger window.  He rushed inside – I can only assume to get Nana, not to call the Police or CYFS.  Sure enough, Nana AND Pa emerged from the house, and walked down to the car looking like survivors of a zombie apocalypse.

“What’s going on here?” ask Nana (who, I should point out at this stage, doesn’t drive anymore)

“Um, I’m just driving, Mum said I could so we’re driving, cool huh, I’m actually getting to drive!”

“Maz is driving Nana and I think I’m going to get killed!” adds Ty just for effect.

“Well, you know” I say, trying to lighten the situation “she’s got her learner’s now… it was only a matter of time until she asked.  And hey… she’s got to start somewhere, right?”

I’m not so fond of reminding them that The Father is a catastrophiser (as diagnosed by a professional, not by me in our divorce proceedings) and that it’s probably best for Maz’s mental health and well-being that I be the one out of the two of us to teach her.

Well, to be honest, it’s probably best for MY mental health and well-being that Neil teaches her how to drive, but Neil wasn’t there so I had to take one for the team.

Pa immediately launches into his three-point safety lecture, and Nana lets rip with the most outrageous language she knows.

“Oh my flippin GOODNESS, I can’t believe it!  Our wee Madison driving, GOSH, what on earth??” 

C’mon Nana, Ty’s in the car.  Tone it down a little.

After assuring them that I was indeed quite capable of this task (does NO-ONE remember I was a Flying Instructor?!!) we took off knowing that they were watching us until we disappeared from sight.  It took all of my will not to flip them the bird as we disappeared around the corner.

We made it to the supermarket OK, and after loading up on $80 worth of junk food and wine (not for the upcoming trip although I’m sure it would have helped) we found ourselves back in the carpark with a huge decision to make.

“So missy… want to give it a crack?  You don’t have to – and if you do and find you don’t like it, we can pull over and I’ll take over, ok?”

She’s too much like her mother.  And so we found ourselves on the main arterial motorway between Upper Hutt and Wellington on a Saturday early-evening with my 16 year old daughter at the wheel, my 11 year old daughter in the back praying for her life.

In fact, to be honest, Ty was more interested in telling me about the girls at her school, and who likes who and who said what during assembly and who misbehaved during Cooking class, but I had to ask her to be quiet so I could wholly concentrate on my eldest not driving into a barrier.

“You always spend more time with Maz” she mumbles….

After spending a twenty minute ride offering lots of supportive advice like “you don’t need to do 100km just yet missy”,  “yep 90km on the motorway is definitely fine”,  “that’s OK we don’t need to be RIGHT beside the barrier” and “don’t worry about that guy or his finger, he’s an asshole”, we arrived at our motel right in the CBD completely unscathed.  I opened the wine bottle before reaching reception but that’s just cos I was a little dry and didn’t have a water bottle on me.

The next morning Little Miss The Stig decided she’d like to burn off a few more barrels of oil and conveniently my lovely friend Ness lives about an hour’s drive up the coast from Wellington.

A few texts later, after having placated Ty that yes… despite that face that Ness has only BOYS, there will be something for you to do; and yes… despite that face that Ness has only BOYS, she’s still very lovely;  and yes… despite that face that Ness has only BOYS, rumour has it she has an i-Pad and she might even let you play on it; we had a plan in place.

After longingly eyeing up the bottle of red sitting in the minibar, and briefly wishing that Doctors prescribed valium to parents of teens, we made our way out to the car while I half-fervently wished that it had been stolen.  Alas I was not so lucky so in we hopped and I started the spiel all over again.

I say “started” because I only got three words into it before Little Miss The Stig had it all sorted and was ready to go.

The first obstacle was to get onto the motorway, which was only about 20 metres down the road from the motel.  Fortunately the light was red, so I had time to impart my knowledge onto her.

“Now, once the light turns green, you’ll need to make quite a sharp turn to swing back onto the motorway…”
Light turns green and I get thrown into the passenger door in the turn.  

The trip turned out to be fairly uneventful.  Well, that is, if you put incidents to km travelled as a ratio.  Our first little “event” was at the big Mana Roundabout – those of you from or familiar with Wellington will know how traumatic this is going to get.

At a bottleneck that feels like eight lanes merging into half a lane, they throw a narrow bridge into the mix along with a dozen or so local kids jumping off the bridge, plus one of those transit lanes with cars parked along approximately half of it and a sign announcing the conditions of the transit lane that is just big enough to see but not big enough to read before passing it without slowing down to 3km an hour.  Luckily, they were kind enough to repeat these signs approximately every 72km so I had another chance to ascertain whether we should in fact have been cruising down it or not. 

Finding out we shouldn’t have been, at the same time a line of parked cars loomed immediately ahead of us, called for some pretty quick yelling on my behalf, dotted with some swearing and massive self-control in not taking the wheel out of Maz’s hands.

She chose that particular moment and that particular incident to revert back to a teenager and lay the old “I KNOW Mum, gosh… I’ve been driving for 25 minutes now, I’ve GOT this, stop being such a freaker, you’re just like The Father…” so I had no choice but to grab the handbrake and pull up as hard as I could, hoping that the tyre tread would save us as she indicated for a nano-second and pulled into the right-hand lane into a space big enough for a mobility scooter.  I briefly contemplated a slap for the father comment, but I had more pressing issues -  like doing a quick check for bodies.

“What did you do THAT for???” followed by the accusatory glance made me wonder if I’d imagined the entire thing.  I look back at Tyra who is smiling out the window at a tree.  I glance outside and I can’t see any car wrecks or dismembered people, so decide the best thing to do is put it past us as a learning experience and move on.

“YOU’RE just like The Father…” I mumble under my breath.

We stopped at McDonalds halfway there to have a nice cold drink where I express my dismay, not for the first time, that they don’t sell wine.  We discuss our plans for the night, until Maz gets pissed off that Ty drank her drink even though she said she could drink her drink.

She storms out of McDonalds saying “I’ll meet you in the car”.

Ty and I leisurely finish our drinks, until Ty reminds me that not only does Maz have the car keys, but she now knows how to drive.  Out that door faster than you could say “massive insurance excess” I get to the car to find her on the phone to her boyfriend whilst making it very clear to a bunch of teenage boys standing nearby that yes, she’s in the driver’s seat and yes her Mum did in fact just get into the passenger’s seat of the car.

Aware that there might be just the slight potential to be distracted by the 17 teenage boys staring at her, I guide her out of the car park back onto to the motorway.  Try to, anyway.  Had she got her own way we would have gone backwards into a one way drive-through exit and possibly over some kerbs.  I’ve attached a computer-generated diagram for perusal.  We still argued about it for twenty minutes but eventually I got my way.  As we pulled onto the motorway she muttered something under her breath which I didn’t quite catch, but I thought I caught the tail-end of “dumb” and “think you know everything…”

Arriving in Paraparaumu I have to try and remember the directions Ness gave us and told Maz to turn down a street whose name sounded familiar.  Within a nano-second of seeing the houses I knew we would be on the wrong street, so told Maz to make a u-turn.

I remember, as the bottom of the car scrapes on the steep driveway we just turned into, that Maz was driving and pull the handbrake on again in time to save me an invoice for a new letterbox.  In her defence, we hadn’t covered “what happens to the bottom of the car if you go up driveways fast” but in my defence, I hadn’t expected her to react so quickly.  About to reverse out again, Maz spotted a van coming along the road and waited.

“Don’t worry about him, missy, you’ve got plenty of time and anyway… he can just wait for us.  You’ve got L’s on, he’ll understand” and before I finish the sentence we’ve reversed, driven forward, and are back at the top of the road at the intersection.

Holy SHIT I’m a great teacher!

We arrive at Ness’ house unscathed and as she ushers us inside she asks me what I’d like to drink.  Tossing up between “responsible” and “what will the law let me get away with” Maz reminds me that it’s OK to have had a wine if she is driving.  So I have a wine.  A very large wine.  Only as we’re leaving does Maz remember that it MIGHT actually be just for restricted drivers that the licenced passenger is allowed to have had a wine.

Again, Bernie, I’m sorry.  Please still be my friend.  You know I would never condone Drink Driving – but I have to confess that if there’s ever a “Drink While Your Teen Drives” march, I’ll be standing at the front with the largest sign.

We had a lovely visit with Ness despite that fact that she has only BOYS, and Ty did get to play on an i-Pad.  She also had to play with boys, but I think the i-Pad nearly made up for that.  That, and she got to feed chickens.

The trip home was completely uneventful.  I’m not sure if it was the wine, or her wealth of experience, but I actually had a few moments where I didn’t have my right hand on the hand brake and my left hand on the dashboard.

The next morning was a Monday so as well as driving back to Upper Hutt again, Maz got to drop Ty at school.  I think I was more excited about this than either Maz or Ty put together. 

“Oh my GOD Ty, how cool are your friends going to think you are, your big sister is dropping you at school, that’s so awesome!!”.

Ty just shrugged and Maz laughed at me.

My memories of driving to college in the car with Frances are still with me today.   We not only weren’t BIKING, like all those poor students, but we got to smoke on the way to school as well.  But perhaps because she wasn’t my sister, and because we were both so uber-cool, made it a completely different experience that I couldn’t expect my girls to understand…

Arriving in Upper Hutt, I had to confess to Maz that I had no idea how to get to Ty’s school.  She’d just started at intermediate a couple of weeks before.  Briar lived with us for her intermediate years, and Maz went there too many years ago, so I was completely clueless.

“That’s OK” says Maz.  “I know how to get there.”

I think she might have been milking the I’m-Driving cow because I swear we drove down nearly every street in Upper Hutt.  Pulling up to Ty’s school I noticed there were some very limiting parking spaces.  

 Moral dilemma – let my daughter attempt a parallel park in front of all of Ty’s peers, all the parents, the “Siiiiiiiiigns-OUT!” man and the old lady pulling a shopping cart; or suffer the physical endurance of having to walk an extra 200 metres and park somewhere heaps easier?  The four packets of chippies, chocolate custard donuts and two bottles of cider I consumed the night before won over my conscience and we parked up the road a bit. 

Due to the Upper Hutt Celebrity Tour, Ty was late for school, so I walked her in and made excuses to the Office Ladies. “Hi, sorry Tyra is late, I’m here from overseas” made perfect sense to me, but she still had to do the walk of shame over to the late-book and sign her life away.

Kissing her goodbye, I prepare myself for the final leg of this journey.  As we pulled into the driveway of The Father’s house and swerve to miss the cat and the trampoline, I think back over our weekend.

We’ve come a long way, Maz and I.  Our ratio of incidents-per-km-driven was healthy;  our ratio of swearwords-per-km-driven was perhaps more of a smudge on my moral windscreen.

We’ve been through the ups and downs.  Of kerbs, that is.

We’ve been through the ins and outs.  Of one-way drive-thrus.

We’ve faced the challenges and we met them head-on.  Along with the truck outside the motel.

As I kissed her goodbye, and drove away, I waited until I was out of sight before checking myself in the mirror.  The extra wrinkles and the additional grey hair are now tacked on to the end of the 36-hour labour debt and this kid owes me.  Big time.