I was in such a hurry to leave Zimbabwe and do my two or so years of travelling that I didn’t bother to get my drivers licence. This never caused me much of a problem as London is incredibly commuter friendly. Once I had been here awhile I decided that I ought to get my licence, being the responsible adult I had become. So I started taking lessons, the only problem was my instructor turned me into a nervous wreck and after my second lesson I vowed never to set foot on the drivers side of a car again.
I had quite successfully nominated Americo as HEAD DRIVER, this being a win-win situation where Americo got show off his manly driving skills and I could sit there being suitably impressed. However, things were blown off course, when, after much coercion from both Americo and my mom I was lured back into the driver’s seat and got my licence. Americo’s favourite thing was to ‘encourage’ me to drive to the shops.. on my own .. and do the shopping. A very cunning plan of his under the guise of helping me get driving experience, when in reality he just did not want be involved in groceries! I do actually enjoy driving but thought I might share some of my funny experiences in this area..
The first time I went out to the store on my own I had to park the car, no problem… weeell maybe a small one, not enough room for me to get out the door. Easily remedied – jump out the other side and hope the next person who parks is at a distance from me! One slight hitch in my plan, there was a bloke waiting in the car beside me, obviously I could not clamber over the passengers seat, so after much scrabbling about in my bag I come up with some lipstick and pretend to apply. Eventually he left and I dashed out and did the shopping.
Sometime after this Americo, who was completing his ACCA and doing courses on Saturday’s, woke me up at some ungodly hour to take him to his class. I won’t mention my morning thing again but please bear this in mind when you continue to read.
I was persuaded to drop him off and given instructions to fill up the car, how hard can it be? After leaving him to get educated I went off to the nearest service station to ‘fill up’ the car. Hmmmmm… I had not stalled the car AND I’d managed to park within reasonable distance to the pump.. i.e. the hosey thing could reach. Out I got and managed, quite successfully, to get the cap off the tank and start filling the car (as you do!). Once I was done I went in to pay the delightful little fellow behind the counter. He looks at me, looks at my car and says “that will be 28 PENCE please….?”. Had I been more awake I would have handed over my card and said ‘Thank you’.
As it was I tried to explain that I had never filled a car with petrol, in all good third world countries we have petrol attendants! To be fair, if he had handed me a Jerry can and hosepipe I would have managed quite perfectly, thank you very much.
That evening when Americo returned I told him of my distressing car filling (or not) experience. Being the lovely, supporting boyfriend he was at the time, he keeled over and packed out laughing. Men are so smug!
I, however explained the epiphany I had had – next time I have to fill up the car I shall wear a very low cut shirt and incredibly high heals and request much assistance… I have never had to fill the car again.
I had quite successfully nominated Americo as HEAD DRIVER, this being a win-win situation where Americo got show off his manly driving skills and I could sit there being suitably impressed. However, things were blown off course, when, after much coercion from both Americo and my mom I was lured back into the driver’s seat and got my licence. Americo’s favourite thing was to ‘encourage’ me to drive to the shops.. on my own .. and do the shopping. A very cunning plan of his under the guise of helping me get driving experience, when in reality he just did not want be involved in groceries! I do actually enjoy driving but thought I might share some of my funny experiences in this area..
The first time I went out to the store on my own I had to park the car, no problem… weeell maybe a small one, not enough room for me to get out the door. Easily remedied – jump out the other side and hope the next person who parks is at a distance from me! One slight hitch in my plan, there was a bloke waiting in the car beside me, obviously I could not clamber over the passengers seat, so after much scrabbling about in my bag I come up with some lipstick and pretend to apply. Eventually he left and I dashed out and did the shopping.
Sometime after this Americo, who was completing his ACCA and doing courses on Saturday’s, woke me up at some ungodly hour to take him to his class. I won’t mention my morning thing again but please bear this in mind when you continue to read.
I was persuaded to drop him off and given instructions to fill up the car, how hard can it be? After leaving him to get educated I went off to the nearest service station to ‘fill up’ the car. Hmmmmm… I had not stalled the car AND I’d managed to park within reasonable distance to the pump.. i.e. the hosey thing could reach. Out I got and managed, quite successfully, to get the cap off the tank and start filling the car (as you do!). Once I was done I went in to pay the delightful little fellow behind the counter. He looks at me, looks at my car and says “that will be 28 PENCE please….?”. Had I been more awake I would have handed over my card and said ‘Thank you’.
As it was I tried to explain that I had never filled a car with petrol, in all good third world countries we have petrol attendants! To be fair, if he had handed me a Jerry can and hosepipe I would have managed quite perfectly, thank you very much.
That evening when Americo returned I told him of my distressing car filling (or not) experience. Being the lovely, supporting boyfriend he was at the time, he keeled over and packed out laughing. Men are so smug!
I, however explained the epiphany I had had – next time I have to fill up the car I shall wear a very low cut shirt and incredibly high heals and request much assistance… I have never had to fill the car again.
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