That one time I had to go to driving school...Part 1

Those who know me probably would call me a cautious driver and definitely not a speed demon. When forced to finally get my learner's permit, I was the kid who got an A+ in Driver's Ed and was nicknamed "Binoculars" by my teacher -- if I could see the faintest sign of a car, I wasn't turning until it had passed. Driving wasn't my thing, but if I HAD to do it, you could bet I was going to do it with extra caution.

The cars bestowed upon me by my parents further perpetuated my slow and steady driving habits, and when I went off to college in my 4-cylinder Geo Metro, I knew I wouldn't be breaking any land speed records. In all honesty, without a strong tail wind, it was hard enough getting up to highway speeds let alone exceeding them.

Sadly, my twenty-first year of life wasn't my greatest year behind the wheel. In November, shortly after Thanksgiving break, I got pulled over for the first time. I was driving back to my campus apartment after a long evening shift at Hy Vee, and I was going 35 down the side street, which I believed to be the speed limit and had for the 3 years I'd lived in Sioux Center. But, apparently, it was a residential area and, while not posted, the speed limit was 25.

My first encounter with a cop resulted in a ticket and a healthy dose of embarrassment since he pulled me over in my apartment parking lot and 90 percent of my friends and acquaintances walked by while I was sitting in the police cruiser. People who talked about these things called "warnings" we're immediately dubbed liars. If I couldn't get out of that ticket with a PERFECTLY clean driving record, then I was positive warnings didn't exist.

Fast forward to January. I am driving back to campus after winter break. I'm going downhill, my windshield is completely covered in slushy grossness from a passing semi, and I am desperately trying to figure out why my windshield washer fluid won't come out. I pass a cop going the other direction. He turns around and comes after me. I have NO idea how fast I was going, but the cop says it was 65. Who's he kidding!?! I'm driving a GEO METRO. No warning, very few words exchanged, and I pull away with ticket number 2...in less than 2 months. Crap.

Now, it's summer. June to be exact. I'm taking a trek to Storm Lake for a little family reunion with the boyfriend's family, and I'm feeling pretty good. I'm a year older, a year wiser. It's been a few months since my last encounter with law enforcement, and I'm being hyper-aware of my speed.

I'm cruising through Alta, Iowa, and slowing down to make sure I don't miss the turn I'm looking for. In fact, I am going 40 in what I believe to be a 45 mph speed zone. BUT, as I reached the edge of the half-mile long town and passed the 55 mph sign, I started to accelerate only to see flashing lights in my review mirror. Seriously!?!

I pull over fully expecting to see the police car go past me and after some other law crushing citizen. But no such luck. The speed limit was actually 35 through town, and I had missed the speed limit sign while looking for street signs indicating my turn off. I tried to explain that I'd never been to Alta and was trying not to get lost and simply missed the sign indicating the drop in speed. And, for a second, I had hope. It really looked like he wanted to let me off.

But then he asked for my license and registration, walked back to his car, and came back a few minutes later with a freshly penned ticket. Gross.

He explained that while he sympathized with my situation, he couldn't ignore my driving record. He hoped this final ticket would be the wake-up call to get my habitual speeding under control.

While he chided me, I pretended to be contrite and show an appropriate level of disappointment and self-deprecation. Deep down, I was hoping the pain and sadness in my eyes would convince him to tear up the ticket and send my on my merry way...I was also contemplating my punishment if I forcefully opened my car door into his shins and drove off a-la Bonnie and Clyde while he hopped around in pain. Since I'm not currently writing this from prison, I clearly opted to remain calm and take my verbal whippings.

However, by this time, I was convinced the system was out to get me...but I would pay this fine, as I had the other two before, and seriously consider hiring a professional chauffeur. Civic responsibility, blah, blah, blah, at least I live in America and won't face the death penalty for speeding, blah, blah, blah.

THEN, in October (more than 4 months AFTER my last ticket), while I was completing my final semester of college in the great city of Chicago. I got a little letter that replaced my civic responsibility attitude with one of righteous indignation. I was being summoned to driving school...in two weeks...in western Iowa...and I had to pay $75 for the class.

I did what any self-respecting, grown-up, independent college kid would do. I called my mom. See, I was LIVING in Chicago until December, without a car, and no way to get back to Iowa for driving school.

Mom talked me off the ledge and encouraged me to see if there was any way to reschedule and attend a different class. Thankfully, the Iowa DOT is an understanding lot and would allow me to reschedule, for the low, LOW fee of $50.

Sweet. Now, I get to pay $125 for 8 hours of driving school, and icing on the cake, the next available date, which I MUST take unless I'd like to lose my license, is a Saturday in December -- the same day my boyfriend, who would become the Hubbs, is scheduled to graduate with his associate's degree.

Let's just say, I wasn't going to win any awards for driver OR girlfriend of the year...BUT, what I didn't know then, that I know now, is this experience would provide some pretty hilarious stories from driving school.

Come back this weekend, dear readers, for driving school, part 2. It's a gem and far to much to document in one single post... clearly I've been bit by the blogging bug again.