It’s pollen season in South Carolina, the whole state is covered in a thin layer of green dust, and CVS is running out of anti-allergy pills. On Tuesday night I washed the cars and the outside of the house. On Wednesday morning they were, once again, covered in green. I don’t think I’ll bother again.
Last Friday we finally took a trip to the dreaded DMV, the Department of Motor Vehicles. We’d been led to believe that it was a bit grim, and you certainly see a cross-section of society there, but all the staff were polite, helpful and friendly to the out-of-towners.
We arrived at the DMV office, queued up and presented our papers. I was rather hoping that I wouldn’t need to do a new driving test – after all, the UK is a pretty strict place to get qualified. The fact that I was holding a ticket saying “International with Test” should have told me otherwise…
The surprise was that we were both going to do the test then and there. I was expecting them to tell me to come back in a fortnight and so I’d be able to read through South Carolina’s highway code the night before. Alas not.
So I found myself in a small room, staring at a computer screen and listening to the questions being read out by a computer voice over a telephone handset – the same sort of thing that people use in prisons to talk to someone the other side of the glass, you get the picture. Luckily for us, in our completely unprepared state, the pass mark was only 24 out of 30, and the questions weren’t too challenging either. Here’s an example, and I kid you not:
When the brakes fail during driving, a driver must not:
- rub a curb to reduce speed
- shift to a lower gear
- press hard on the gas pedal
- pump the brakes
When I was 17 and in Harrogate, I remember having to memorise stopping distances at different speeds and in different conditions. I mean, I remember memorising them, I don’t actually remember what they are. So both Charlie and I passed this bit smoothly..
The next issue was the actual driving test. It only took 20 minutes and was a fairly leisurely drive around delightful North Charleston, with a 3 point turn on an entirely deserted road, and reverse parking between two bits of wood. Surely it’s much more of a challenge if you have the added stress of reverse parking between two Ferraris.
Charlie had a bit more of an issue with the test than I did: we had only taken my car, which she had only driven for 10 minutes ever. But of course, she passed with flying colours – as did I, by the way. Frankly, phew: I don’t know if I could ever have faced the shame of failing a driving test in my mid 30s.
Then I meandered back to the office. I’d only intended to have been gone for a couple of hours at the most; it ended up being a little over four! The day ended rather nicely: a cold beer on the rooftop terrace of the office with some of my new colleagues, watching a super sunset.
South of the Mason-Dixon line 