Passenger 22

Almost everyone’s done it. And whoever’s left over, will probably get to doing it sometime too. Although, not everyone’s first time is the same, I’ve been told. Some take to it like ants in a candy store, for others it’s a protracted exercise, painful even. But apparently, practice makes perfect, I’ve also been told.

I’m 22 years old, with an undergrad degree in Marketing and Advertising, honours in Journalism and Media Studies, an active social life, varied interests and a healthy curiosity about the world around me.

But I’ve never done it.

It’s embarrassing. I wrestle with weak excuses about it, pathetic explanations that sound ridiculous to even my own sensibilities.

I’m doing something about it though. I have to, it’s become debilitating. I can’t get around the way I’d like to and some employers won’t even consider my applications because of it!

So I’ve gone for lessons, pricey ones at that, but they advertised guaranteed results.

My instructor is an eccentric woman with coloured contact lenses and a heavy hand with the eye-make up.

“Go easy with that, not too much, listen for the right sounds.” She says. She pinches when I make the wrong move. “It’s like riding a bicycle.”

After twelve lessons, I’m fairly confident. I know what to push when, and I’ve learnt how important observation can be.

So I’m ready, all revved up and rearing to go.

Now if only that damn call-centre can get back to me on a date for my driving license test.