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My Dreadful Driving Test This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine.

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     I was somewhat nervous waiting for my driving instructor because, after all, it was the day of my driving test. When she finally arrived, the instructor who would decide my fate told me about her near-death experience when her face smashed through the windshield in a car accident. By now I was thoroughly scared at the thought of getting behind the wheel, especially after she showed me her scars.

In the car, I found myself in the driver's seat, barely able to see over the steering wheel. As we pulled out of the driveway, my confidence began to build - after all, millions across the country had passed their driving exam.

Immediately, we came to a red light. While waiting patiently at the light, I absorbed the interesting atmosphere of a driving-school vehicle. The carpeting in the back seat was completely torn up; I was worried the floor might collapse and we would be forced to propel the car with our feet, like the Flintstones. I then looked at the ceiling, a moldy shield that protected us from the elements. I was interrupted from exploring the rest of the car when the light turned green.

Slowly, I pushed the accelerator, and the car died. Since it was rush hour, a line of cars quickly stacked up behind me. Instinctively, I activated my flashers. Apparently the world sees flashers as a death threat because for the next few minutes, I was the focus of a barrage of foul language that penetrated the windows like rays of hatred. Then people began throwing garbage at the car and we became a collage of Big Mac wrappers. Eventually, a policeman arrived, accompanied by a shirtless citizen. I was convinced the policeman was here to show us the man who smacked the car with his fist as he drove by, but no, together the shirtless Hercules and the cop pushed our vehicle to the nearest parking lot. With the ignition off and the power steering disabled, I was forced to drive the mass of steel with just my strength and body weight.

As we turned into our temporary haven, I realized our wrecked carriage was moving down a driveway with a steep incline. As it began to speed up, I pressed the brakes, only to realize they did not work. I began sweating; the instructor started praying, and the passenger in the backseat started screaming. We were heading straight for the front door of a store when I made a desperate attempt to swerve into a concrete slab in front of the parking space to prevent drivers from pulling forward too far. Bracing ourselves, we slammed into this barrier and were propelled backward into the middle of the parking lot.

Shivering with uneasiness, we got out, leaving the car in the middle of the lot. After walking back to the driving school, we grabbed a new set of keys for a different car since I still needed to finish my examination.

In all, my driving test lasted a measly 20 minutes. Now, I realize how terribly inconsiderate many drivers are. In my time of need, the initial response was a bombardment of curses in many languages and a sea of trash.

This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.






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