This illustrates the main problem with moving to a foreign country: to find out what your new life will be like, you have to ask questions. But how do you know what questions to ask? I hadn’t realized I should have asked, “Do the trainee cars have automatic transmission?“ You know, like I didn't think to ask, “While I’m driving, will somebody wallop me with a chicken?“
I’d driven cheap cars before -- did I ever mention I hung out with the stoners in college? -- so I got in and hoped for the best. The skill came back pretty quickly. Minutes later H and I were speeding around the German countryside. He talked excitedly. He must have recognized that I was a great driver and needed no instruction, so I heard a lot about his wife and life in Germany. Back at the driving school, though, he announced that I'd need more lessons. Because there was so much I needed to learn.
I tilted my head like your dog would if you asked him to mix you a martini. I thought, why didn’t you tell me some of that instead of, you know, intimate details about your wife -- 37-year-old, banjo-playing Hildegarde? (I actually don't remember what he said about her because I WAS TRYING TO DRIVE.)
I agreed to sign up for two more lessons at 70 euros each. I crossed my fingers and hoped one of them would be for my driving test. I couldn’t have been more wrong: at the next lesson, on a Monday morning, I discovered H had actually signed me up for a third lesson, making it three days in a row.
Suddenly it hit me: I wasn't some excellent-driving foreign guy who'd be taking the German driving test any time soon. No, for an undefined period I would be paying Niepel $58 per hour to teach me something I already knew.
As we were getting in the car again, H casually shared his vision for my future. The driving test required a pretty good knowledge of German, which I didn't have, so there was no way I'd pass. But look on the bright side! We'd have so much fun driving around together. You know what Hildegard did last night?
I heard my blood pounding in my ears. Americans from 38 states don't have to take the German driving test, but for me there's daily tutoring that costs more than a Gucci addiction. It was too much. "Instead of paying you to drive around with me," I snapped, "I'll go home and study German. Let's forget all about this lesson, and cancel the next ones too."
H smiled tightly but was already prepared with an answer. "You have to cancel 48 hours in advance."
I threw myself out of the car and stomped back to the office. I had a talk with J, during which he rarely stopped laughing. To his credit, he let me cancel the other lessons -- but he noted that I'd already paid for that day's lesson so I'd might as well drive with H. Reluctantly, I went back to the car.
H directed me into a parking lot and then slammed on the brakes. You know when you're on the main road in a parking lot, and there are all these little parking aisles to the side? Well, in Germany the cars in the aisles on the right have priority over the cars on the main road. It's part of the "right before left" rule that applies on all of Germany's roads. It's a very strange, completely non-intuitive rule apparently designed so the government can save a few bucks on STOP signs.
"YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN US KILLED!" H screamed. Which would have been absolutely true if (1) there had been another moving car within half a mile, and (2) it had been pointed straight at us and driving 80 kilometers per hour.
After directing me out of the parking lot, H told me to drive straight ahead. I noticed a sign that seemed to say "no cars allowed," but I wasn't sure. You know the universally-understood red circle with the slash through it that means FORBIDDEN"? Like the one in the Ghostbusters logo that means "No ghosts allowed"? Germany doesn't use those. Instead, the color of the circle holds the entire meaning, making me imagine interactions like this:
ME (DRIVING AND SHIELDING EYES FROM THE SUN): "Is the circle red? IS IT RED???"
HUSBAND (ALSO SHIELDING EYES): "NO, I DON'T THINK SO! IS THERE AN OPTION FOR PUMPKIN ORANGE? AND WHAT WOULD WE DO FOR PUCE?"
"Do you want me to go straight ahead?" I asked H.
He didn't reply, so I proceeded cautiously ahead. Again he slammed on the brakes. "NO CARS ALLOWED!" he yelled, pointing at the sign. "YOU FAILED YOUR TEST AGAIN!"
"I asked you if I should go straight and you didn't say anything," I said. "'If I don't say anything, drive straight ahead,' you said."
"NOT IF IT ISN'T ALLOWED!" he barked.
Finally, H told me to make a u-turn. On a deserted street, I turned into a deserted alley for the first point of a three-point turn, and once again he slammed on the brakes.
Here's a drawing of the u-turn. I wanted to use a drawing program but they don't exist in Germany. Nobody draws here, including children. They write up a quick note of what they require -- a red house, a squiggly green tree, a yellow sun -- and have their secretaries draw it up.
From (1) I turned left, planning to stop at 2. Then I'd reverse into the street to 3, and then drive forward in the opposite direction. H slammed on the brakes at 2. "THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO A U-TURN!" he yelled.
I stared at him, furious. With his third apparently lifesaving stop, I was utterly humiliated and more confused than ever. Is this the way Niepel teaches you to drive -- they don't say a word but just slam on the brakes whenever you do something wrong? I'd have whiplash before I got my license. And how else do you make a u-turn? I wondered. I calmly got out of the car and, in the last words I spoke to him, told him I was done and that he should drive us back.
While he drove, he narrated the ride with explanations of what he was doing. You know, things thirty-year veteran drivers need to know, like the fact that you have to stop at STOP signs, green lights mean GO, etc. I stared out the window and wondered where my life had gone so horribly wrong. Was there even another way of making a U-turn? I wondered. When I got home, I looked up it up in the 90-euro book.
My jaw dropped. Yes, surely this made more sense: backing around a corner -- which any driver knows is the stupidest thing you can do in a car, and I'm including driving Lindsay Lohan to a crackhouse among the options -- and then, when you are apparently in the right lane, you make a left turn.
Fine with me! I thought. I'd love to hear somebody's explanation about how this is superior to the American way, but I'll do whatever they say. The thing is, nowhere did it say the American way wasn't allowed.
Once again I pictured Germany standing next to Italy and Greece, saying, "Hey, at least we're not as dumb as THEM!" But the fact is, Germany -- yes, yes, you are. I say that on behalf of people with brains who find this preposterous. I say this on behalf of the Americans who live in one of the 28 U.S. states where you can literally just exchange your U.S. driver's licenses for a German one with no instruction whatsoever -- to be killed the first time they go to the mall, or get caught in a particularly colorful sunset. And I say this on behalf of poor people who will never get a driver's license because they don't have $1,600 -- which is what I end up spending with Fahrschule Niepel.
Back at the office, J let me switch over to another instructor. His English wasn't very good, J warned, but what could possibly go wrong?
