The road test: The only thing that will finally release me from the burden of relying on friends and family for most everything. I’m guessing you thought I failed and am just writing some bitter reaction, but no, that’s not the case, I didn’t even get to take it.
On the day my test was scheduled, September 8, I was ecstatic. It felt like I had been waiting for this moment my whole life (cliché as it is), and I couldn’t wait for 2 p.m. to roll around. I was calm, cool, and confident: the perfect state of mind.
Naturally, the one day of the year my mom was working, was the day of my road test, and she couldn’t take me. So I asked my Dad, and he agreed to take her place, but he had to cut it close, considering he got out of work at around 1:30. I was waiting for him in physics, when I got a call from him in class. I ignored it the first time, but then he called again. I ignored it once more but I was wondering why he hadn’t just come into the school to sign me out. After a third call, I took the pass and hurried into the hall and picked up. As soon as I said “hello” I knew that something was up… low and behold my dad’s car broke down two blocks out from his job. Fantastic.
I was so upset, probably more so than most people would be; I could barely talk to my dad without boiling over in frustration. Getting my license is important to me because I live on the outer edge of Wantagh and I constantly pester everyone for rides, which can be quite annoying on both ends. Not to mention, I have a late birthday, and kids my age have been driving since December, so the wait to join them, for me at least, has been very long and very agonizing.
Despite the whole mess, I still tried to make a last ditch effort to get to the test, but by the time my brother picked me up it was way past my scheduled appointment.
The day had left me pretty bummed out. I don’t know if everything happens for a reason, but something tells me I wasn’t meant to take my road test.