(no subject)
Jul. 9th, 2002 03:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetSo I have never learned to drive. Doesn't really matter why not -- there isn't really any specific reason. As a teen I was too involved with nearly every non-sports extracurricular activity offered by my high school (except Chess Club and Future Farmers of America, I think, and maybe there was home ec. club) to take the time-consuming driving classes I could get cheap, and learning from my mom (my mom) was likely to end in frustration for both of us. And later on I just kept postponing it.
So this morning at 8:30 I finally took the first step in replacing my fake-looking (but real) Rhode Island liquor ID. As I expected, there was a good 15 or 16 years between me and everyone else in the room -- the students younger, the two instructors older. I got some surprised looks when I came in, but did not speak to anyone, so I didn't have to tell them that, e.g., I was relearning to drive after the stroke.
Class was fairly dull, especially since it lasted until noon. But at least I got to watch a heart-wrenching short film about some kid with a promising future who kills his best friend in a drunk-driving accident.
Naturally many of my fellow students, being 16-year-old boys, were too "cool" to be seen doing anything so lame as note-taking, and spent their time trying to get the instructor to repeat words and phrases in her thick North Shore accent.
After class I went to the library because we're all supposed to bring a newspaper or magazine article about cars or driving to class tomorrow.
And now I should work on my dissertation proposal.
So this morning at 8:30 I finally took the first step in replacing my fake-looking (but real) Rhode Island liquor ID. As I expected, there was a good 15 or 16 years between me and everyone else in the room -- the students younger, the two instructors older. I got some surprised looks when I came in, but did not speak to anyone, so I didn't have to tell them that, e.g., I was relearning to drive after the stroke.
Class was fairly dull, especially since it lasted until noon. But at least I got to watch a heart-wrenching short film about some kid with a promising future who kills his best friend in a drunk-driving accident.
Naturally many of my fellow students, being 16-year-old boys, were too "cool" to be seen doing anything so lame as note-taking, and spent their time trying to get the instructor to repeat words and phrases in her thick North Shore accent.
After class I went to the library because we're all supposed to bring a newspaper or magazine article about cars or driving to class tomorrow.
And now I should work on my dissertation proposal.
