There it was, the morning of my driver’s exam. I was standing in front of my closet in my robe. I’d gotten up early to review the DVD a bit more before the test, and was now getting ready to go, trying to decide what to wear.
“What are you doing?” He said.
“Do you think it will be a man or a woman administering the test?” I asked.
“It will be a machine,” he replied.
“I’m going to wear a low-cut top all the same,” I said.
I also wore the lucky silver necklace that my mom gave me and my lucky pearl earrings. So much for that. I failed. You’re allowed to get five wrong. I got seven wrong. I’m told that 50% of French people fail the written driver’s exam the first time around, but this didn’t make me feel any better.
I studied the DVD for the driver’s exam and, no kidding, memorized 1600 questions and responses. It was not enough. More than half of the questions I encountered on the exam were regarding crap I had never seen before in my life. I was extremely pissed off at the driver’s ed school that had issued me the DVD. You can imagine how tempting it was, as long as we were at the city hall and all, to get a gun license and then go shoot up the place.
But the exam required to get a gun would probably have been just as complicated and difficult, and guess what: I TOTALLY GET WHY.
France really knows how to put the F*U in FUN.