Inside the bright, nondescript, muggy classroom,
five disgruntled students, John, Mary, Irv, Michael, and Sally, were seated at
their assigned desks. Not happy to be inside on a beautiful, but humid July
day, there they waited, notepads and pencils at the ready to house the learned
wisdom to be dispensed by the teacher who had yet to arrive. The room was
hotter than usual. The air conditioning was busted, which made everyone more
agitated. Outside, the students’ walkers lined the hallway, neatly arranged one
next to the other, patiently awaiting the return of their respective
caregivers. The octogenarians were
getting restless.
“How can they leave us in here to wait so
long?” John complained. He pulled off his glasses to clean them. Still groggy,
having forgotten to set his alarm clock to wake him up for class, John didn’t
have enough time to change before the cab arrived. So, there he sat in his
robe, atop a mustard stained white t-shirt, flannel pajama bottoms, and
slippers. “I need to get home to take my medication.”
“We’ve only been waiting ten minutes,” Mary
retorted, adjusting her brassiere strap that had poked out of her top. Mary was
primly dressed in a cotton tank top adorned with pearls, and Bermuda shorts
that were starting to chafe. “Stop complaining.”
“At my age, ten minutes is a lifetime. I
have angina. I could’ve dropped dead already,” John responded.
“Well, you’re not dead yet, so I’m willing
to bet that another ten minutes won’t kill you,” Michael advised. “Meanwhile,
could one of you open a window, it’s a sauna in here.”
Realizing that their walkers were in the hall, and that their creaky, arthritic bones had settled comfortably into the plastic chairs, no one moved. Michael, a professor by trade prior to retirement, was growing hot under the collar from his get up. He squirmed uncomfortably in his wrinkle and iron free khaki pants, before finally removing his tweed blazer and unbuttoning his bow tie for some relief.
Realizing that their walkers were in the hall, and that their creaky, arthritic bones had settled comfortably into the plastic chairs, no one moved. Michael, a professor by trade prior to retirement, was growing hot under the collar from his get up. He squirmed uncomfortably in his wrinkle and iron free khaki pants, before finally removing his tweed blazer and unbuttoning his bow tie for some relief.
“You don’t have a vagina, you’re a man,”
Sally shouted, waving her hot pink Addidas tracksuit clad arms about. Sally,
the youngest of the group, but a little hard of hearing, had come from the gym
where the blaring speakers didn’t help her hearing deficit.
“I think it’s time to get your hearing aids
checked. I said ‘angina,’ not ‘vagina.’ Helen Keller had better hearing than
you,” John shouted back.
“When do you have to be home?” Irv inquired. Decked out in his favourite neon green and purple plaid golf knickers and matching hat-sweater vest combo, Irv looked at his watch, hopeful that if the teacher arrived soon, he could go to the driving range.
“By six,” John said.
Irv, Sally, Michael, and Mary looked at the
clock. It read 2:11p.m.
“I think you’ll make it,” Mary deadpanned.
Finally, a strapping, twenty-something young
man named Bill strode into the room with purpose, marking his name on the
chalkboard in bold block letters. He then meandered over to the front of the teacher’s
desk at the head of the class, leaning back on it, trying to seem casual. For
all Bill knew, any sudden movements could cause one of his students to drop
dead from a heart attack or stroke.
“My name is Bill. Well, Staff Sergeant Bill
Myers. You can call me Officer Bill. I’ll be your remedial driving education
instructor today. By the end of today’s class, I hope you’ll all be prepared to
retake your driver’s license written and road tests, or realize that your
driving days have driven off into the sunset. Any questions before we begin?”
“How old are you?” John asked.
“Twenty-six. How old are you, John?” Officer
Bill queried, taking note of the name tag on John’s robe. After years of
interacting with the elderly, he knew better than to ask them about their
attire.
“Eighty-six. That makes me your elder, Billy
boy. Kindly call me Mr. Smith.”
“Fine. And, John, you can call me Officer
Bill. Does anyone have any other questions?”
No one raised their hand, or batted an
eyelash, except for Sally. She began to aggressively wink and make eyes at
Bill, who did his best not to make eye contact with her.
“Based on your assigned seats and name
tags, I can see that everyone is here. So let’s begin. Do you know why you’re all here?”
“Yeah, to get our licenses back,” Irv said.
The rest of the group, except for Mary who was ensconced in knitting an
elaborate scarf, nodded in agreement.
“Ma’am, could you please put your knitting away. This is a very serious class, and if you don’t pay attention, I won’t let
you take your driving test,” Officer Bill advised. “But, maybe you don’t want
to drive again?”
Mary shot Officer Bill an evil eye and
muttered to herself under her breath as she begrudgingly shoved her knitting
needles and yarn in her purse.
“Mary, since I have your attention, why
don’t you share with the class why you lost your license.”
Mary remained mum and averted Officer
Bill’s gaze.
“I gather from your silence that you want
me to share your story. It says here in my notes that you have a penchant for
failing to put your car in park. That on two occasions you left the keys in the
ignition, the car was in drive, and you got out, walked into a store as your
car rolled away. One time it rolled into a wall in an underground parking lot,
and another it rolled into a busy intersection causing a five car pileup.”
Mary started to tear. Officer Bill walked
over to her, handing her a tissue.
“I could’ve sworn I’d parked the car and turned
the engine off,” Mary sobbed.
“Luckily for you, the only injuries
sustained on both occasions were by the wall and the cars. No humans were
hurt.”
“I was hurt. I lost my license,” Mary
whined. “I’m on a fixed income, and taxis are expensive.”
“Maybe if you’d paid attention then, you wouldn’t be here today. So, the moral of the story is stop knitting, pay attention today and you may have a way to get your license back.”
“Maybe if you’d paid attention then, you wouldn’t be here today. So, the moral of the story is stop knitting, pay attention today and you may have a way to get your license back.”
“What about me? I don’t even know why I’m here,” Michael advised.
“Yes, Michael, that’s part of the problem,”
Officer Bill retorted. “You have Alzheimer’s, so you don’t remember that your
license was revoked by your doctor and you keep driving.”
“If his license was revoked, what the hell is he even doing here?” Irv bellowed. “If he can get back on the road, I’m getting the hell out of here. You can keep my license. I’ll take the bus to the golf course.”
“If his license was revoked, what the hell is he even doing here?” Irv bellowed. “If he can get back on the road, I’m getting the hell out of here. You can keep my license. I’ll take the bus to the golf course.”
Officer Bill ignored Irv’s outburst.
“Michael, you came here yesterday and last
week too. Each time I told you that you couldn’t get your license back. The
woman at the DMV gave you the wrong information. You’ll have to stick to taking
the bus and cabs, or getting rides from friends.”
Michael nodded his head and wandered out of
the classroom. Officer Bill knew he’d be meeting him again in a few days, since
dropping into remedial driving education class had become part of Michael’s new
routine.
“Getting back to my rounds, why don’t we
talk about John’s reason for being here today.”
“Let’s not and say we did,” John retorted,
adjusting the belt on his robe.
“My notes tell me that two police officers found
you in your driveway trying to drive your car after your neighbours called
them. It says here that your son removed the engine because you’d had one too
many fender benders.”
“Listen sonny, I’ll tell you just like I
told my son and those coppers, I know how to drive. I’m an excellent driver,”
John advised.
“Maybe you were, but according to your
son’s statement to the police, and the accident reports we have on file for
you, you clearly forgot that if you don’t put the car in park, it’s going to
roll. That seems to be what got you into trouble in the first place,” Officer
Bill countered.
“When you reach my age, you’ll roll too,”
John shot back.
“With all due respect, when I reach your
age, I won’t be driving. I know better.”
“Why I oughtta…” John shouted, shaking his
fist at Officer Bill from his chair.
“Quit your macho display, you old cook,”
Sally chastised John. “He’s only doing his job.”
Sally gave Officer Bill her best ‘come
hither’ look.
“Ma’am, I don’t actually see your name on
my list. Could you please tell me who
you are?”
“You don’t remember me? I’m devastated,”
Sally whined.
“I’m sorry, should I?”
“You’re the cutie patootie pie police
officer who gave me a speeding ticket a few weeks ago.”
Sally could see that Officer Bill still
couldn’t place her. She was offended.
“You must remember me. I’m Sally. I was
driving a cherry red Mercedes-Benz convertible.” Officer Bill’s face remained
blank. “I was wearing a bikini top, and
you said that you were impressed that a woman of my age had the confidence to
dress like a woman in her twenties. Especially since I’m only fifty.”
“Ahem, try more like seventy,” Irv coughed
under his breath. Sally shot him a nasty stare.
“Right, I do remember you. But, why are you
here? You still have your license. It was only a forty-dollar ticket and it
wasn’t for speeding. You were going fifteen under the speed limit,” Officer
Bill advised.
“I wanted to thank you for the caution.
And, when I looked at the note you gave me with your name, I noted that you
forgot to leave me your number if I had any questions,” Sally explained.
“You have a question about the ticket?”
“No, silly. I needed to ask you about when
you were picking me up to take me to dinner,” Sally admonished.
Officer Bill turned beet red. John, Mary,
and Irv broke out into hysterical laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Sally asked miffed. “Is
it so inconceivable that a young man finds a fifty year old woman attractive?”
“Stop embarrassing yourself,” Mary advised.
“He’s not interested in you. Did you even bother to pay any attention to
anything but his face?”
“What are you talking about?” Sally queried.
“What are you talking about?” Sally queried.
“Look at his left hand,” Mary instructed.
Sally searched her purse for her glasses.
“Jesus Christ woman, the cop’s married,”
John shouted. “I’m older than you and I can see that.”
Sally’s face’s burned with fifty shades of
crimson.
“Ok, let’s get back to why we’re here
today. Sally, I really appreciate your offer, but I’m a happily married man.
Since you don’t need to be here, you’ll need to go. Just remember to drive the
speed limit.”
Sally gathered her belongings, and ran out
of the room in haste to escape her humiliation, stopping dramatically at
Officer Bill’s side before exiting.
“If something changes, and you’re suddenly
single, call me,” Sally offered, securely placing a piece of paper with her
number scribbled on it in Officer Bill’s hand.
Officer Bill smiled awkwardly, as the class
watched Sally sashay out of the room, swinging her hips for added effect. With
the door finally closed behind her, the group of four breathed a collective
sigh of relief.
“Irv, you’re last, but certainly not least
in my eyes. My file tells me that you lost your license after you had a stroke.
But, you didn’t let a little stroke or lost license get in your way. Instead,
you wanted to drive so badly that you hired a neighbourhood punk to break into
your car and hotwire it for you after your kids took away the keys.”
“I still don’t see the big deal. It was my
car. No law was broken,” Irv stammered.
“You called the cops on the kid you paid to
steal your car,” Officer Bill retorted.
“He’s a little shit. He stole my newspaper,
so we’re even now.”
“Why did you need your car that badly?”
Mary asked.
“I had a golf game to get to, and my
ungrateful kids wouldn’t drive me,” Irv explained.
“What about taking a cab or a bus?” Officer
Bill asked.
“Buses don’t go to where I play golf. And,
before you tell me I should’ve taken a cab, I’ve seen how those drivers handle
luggage. No way are any of them gonna get their mitts on my clubs. They cost
thousands of dollars.”
Officer Bill shook his head. He could see
that they’d wasted almost an hour just going through the introductions. Based
on everyone’s testimonial and litany of excuses, he knew that none of them were
going to get their licenses back, but didn’t know how to put it delicately so
that none of them would have a heart attack at getting the news. Plus, he
didn’t want to waste a day indoors trying to plead with deaf ears about the
importance of why they had to stay off the road.
“So teach, are you going to get started
telling us what we have to do to get our licenses back, or not? I’ve got
medication to take, Irv would like to try to get back to the range, and Mary’s
got a scarf to finish in this heat,” John pressed.
“How can I put this in terms that you’ll
all understand?” Officer Bill wondered aloud. The three remaining pupils looked
at him confusedly. “Do you know who the author Isaac Asimov was?”
The group nodded.
“If I let any of you back on the road, the
police department is going to have to systematically revoke everyone else’s
license to keep them safe. To paraphrase and modify Asimov’s immortal words: ‘life
is pleasant, death is peaceful, but it’s your driving that’s troublesome.’ None
of you are ever driving again.”
© 2014. Naomi Elana Zener. All Rights
Reserved.
