An introduction.
If you do not know the story of how I got my driver’s license and you plan for me to drive you somewhere, do not ask. If you know, you probably think I’m ridiculous and don’t know why I haven’t died before now. You also probably don’t let me drive you places.
That being said, I’m not a big fan of the whole driving business. Dad set me behind the wheel a few years back and I am still terrified of the (purely physical) power that driving gives me. I’m fairly certain I will kill someone.* I have this awful-but-actually-quite-hilarious story of my first time in a car.
My dad came home one day and told me it was getting to be that time that I learned how to drive. After some careful thought (and a few “motivating glances” from my mother), I agreed. We hopped into his gold Hyundai Elantra and my father carefully explained to me what was in front of me. I was taught how to turn on the car. Luckily for me, father had thoughtfully parked on the street, so I didn’t have to back out onto Castle Gate. I slowly drove a bit. Very cautiously. Like I said, not the biggest fan. The car moved with my every whim. Frightening. Anyway, once past that obstacle, dad asked me to drive up towards Girard. 
I did, simple enough. HOWEVER, if you’ll kindly notice, Girard is on hill. Girard does not go straight up the hill. Girard changes after his encounter with Craddock. The small part of Girard that seems normal, just as he leaves Castle Gate, isn’t. Lies. That small blue line that represents Girard between Castle Gate and Craddock is far more inclined than the rest of Girard. Actually, if truth be told, it’s very difficult for someone short driving a small car to see if there are people driving on Craddock, especially if that short person is on the lower part of the hill, as they would be if they were at the stop sign at Girard and Craddock.
As it was, though, I stopped at the stop sign. You’re probably thinking that I accidented myself with some other car. Fortunately for my father, I did not. Unfortunately for my ego, I did not. I waited, patiently, for my opportunity. There it was! I took it. Daddy’s little car raced across Craddock freely! I crossed Craddock successfully! Then BAM, a loud explosion, a sudden stop, and confusion. Father asked me to pull over, which was kind of redundant given that the car was officially not on any road.
He got off to examine his car. He walked clockwise around the car, stopping occasionally, then, arriving back at his door stopped entirely and laughed. Thinking back on it, it was an ironic laugh. Probably. Then again, he might’ve thought that it was just flat comical. He leaned into the car and asked me to go ahead and get off. I walked around to the passenger side to examine my work, and it wasn’t at all subtle.
I had blown his tire. Like, in successfully fording Craddock, I’d successfully forgotten to go around the curb of upper side Girard. I’d speared his front right tire on a broken piece of the curb, and it had exploded. I walked back to the house to tell mom that I’d ruined dad’s car. My brother stayed with my father to learn how to change a tire.
Story’s probably pretty “like, what is this about?” at this point, I know. The next day my father went to get a replacement for his tire. The saleslady greeted him, and he explained to her why he needed a new tire. She laughed, but paused for a moment, then asked, “But didn’t you get all of your tires replaced yesterday?” Sad day in the life of a first-time driver, comic relief in the lives of a few tire-store people. (They didn’t charge him to replace the tire, that’s how funny they thought it was.)
*Unintentional = manslaughter, unless the prosecution insists that I knew I was going to kill someone, which I do, which makes me irrational. Irrational people tend to be crazy. However, they probably won’t believe that I’m crazy because, one, I study psychology, two, I am familiar with acting, and, three, they won’t get to know me while I’m on trial. If they did, I’d sue. Get to know me that is. Also, I really like this site. Very useful in determining how long of a sentence I’d serve. And, that’s what she said. (Don’t get it? You’re not trying hard enough.)
