Shotgun!

Most people would say that instead of teaching teenagers to drive, they would much
rather do anything else. This leaves the occupation of driving instructor open to a very specific
demographic. Most of them are men and all of them are old, almost as if they had put “must be
over the age of 60, preferably with testicles” on the job application.

I participated in driver’s ed once. The classes lasted 3 hours and were on Mondays,
Wednesdays, and Fridays. Many of the instructors were famous for making kids drive them
around to do their errands. On any given day, you could be getting gas or snacks from the
instructor’s house (which they would not share). One of our instructors had filled his glove
compartment with cheese sticks; because nothing says safety on the road like an old man deep
throating mozzarella.

My teacher was a man in his early 80s named Jeff. Jeff was about 5 feet tall, and had
hands permanently curved to fit a steering wheel. His job was to play videotapes from the 80s
about driving.

I’m not sure who approved these videos, or if there was any approval process at all. One
minute we would be watching Jerry Seinfeld say “What’s the deal with seatbelts?” and the next
there would be a mother weeping at the loss of her child that had died ten years prior in a
gruesome car crash. I don’t know much about the 80s, but from the videos they played in driver’s
ed, I’m guessing that people then were really into traumatizing their kids.

Aside from being the material of future nightmares, these videos were often poorly acted,
and very repetitive, each beginning with the statement that the footage was real. There would be
a party filled with drunk teenagers dancing, beer bottles in hand. A boy who was obviously
drunk would get into the driver’s seat of a car, and his girlfriend and a few other kids would pile
in after. The girlfriend would beg him not to drive, pleading “Billy no! You can’t!” But Billy
would ignore her, saying something like “Babe, no it’s fine.” Then he would crash, and the
girlfriend and maybe one of the other kids would die; leaving Billy with terrible guilt for the rest
of his life. “If only I had listened, I was so stupid” he would say, wiping away tears, occasionally
with the sleeve of an orange jumpsuit.

The night we watched those videos was also the night that Jeff decided to teach us about
drugs. He very slowly made his way up to the front of the classroom and with what looked like
difficulty took hold of a dry-erase marker. The class watched with detached curiosity as Jeff
shakily scribbled a stick figure up on the board.

“Ok! There’s this person, let’s call them an entrepreneur.” Of course by this he meant
drug dealer. However, our class, being primarily composed of privileged suburban teenagers, did
not understand what he meant. Nevertheless, Jeff continued; drawing a square next to the stick
figure. “And this entrepreneur wants to sell you a package.” And of course by package he meant drugs, a message that was, yet again, missed by the class. Next Jeff decided to do some crowd work and threw the question to the room “What should we call this package?” Our class fell silent, though it wasn’t much of a change given that none of us had been talking. We stayed that way for a little while, until one kid, across the room from me, slowly raised his hand; Jeff went “Yes?” and the kid said, tentatively,

“Craig?”

Thankfully, Jeff heard something else:

“Crack! So somebody’s going to sell you crack.” Then he went on to tell us that when (not if) we
bought cocaine, we had to make sure the dealer was good. Because if he wasn’t, he would fill up
most of the box with “a different white powder,” Here are some of our class’s ideas for what a different white powder would be:

 

Baking Powder

 

Baking Soda

 

Flour

 

And Baking Powder again

To this, Jeff responded, “Could be. Could be. But more likely he will fill it up with Lysergic acid Diethylamide” This time our confusion must have been more evident because he followed with
“Also known as LSD!”

Looking back, I don’t think Jeff was telling us not to do drugs. Instead, he wanted to
make sure that when we bought cocaine, we got a good dealer so we would get our money’s
worth. Which was, in a way, sort of sweet.

It is required by law for a person to complete 30 hours of Drivers Ed classes before
getting their permit. These are hours of my life I willingly gave away to eighties videos and
three-page worksheets; all to learn that I really don’t like driving and would much rather be
carted around in the vehicles of my friends and family like the princess that I am.

My memory of the things we learned is a little hazy now, I couldn’t tell you how to parallel park, or what to do at a four way stop. But I will always carry with me that bad dealers will fill your cocaine with LSD, and that I should never get a boyfriend named Billy. These are not lessons I ever really wanted (or needed) to learn, but they are now stuck in my brain forever and ever. And in its own way isn’t that kind of wonderful?

 

AJ Hardcastle: I’m a 17-year high-school student from Maine. I adore writers like David Sedaris and Simon Rich, and I am currently working on my first movie, which is centers around a terrible JV softball team. I’ve loved comedy as long as I can remember, and it would be pretty sweet if I could make a career out of it!