I can’t ride a bike.
And I can’t drive.
Well, that’s not entirely true. I have a driving license. Ahem, a Turkish driver’s license. Not to undermine the license itself, a Turkish license is considered international which means I could use it to rent or drive a car in the States. So having the license is a good thing and I don’t undermine its power.
Getting the license, however, was a total joke. After I passed the written exam, which is way more complicated than the American one, I met an exam official, I have no idea what they are called, at the driving-exam site. Two other driver wannabes get in the car with a traffic cop. I get in the driver’s seat and the exam official in the passenger seat. Since it’s their car, you are forced to know how to drive a stick shift. So I get in the car and the official tells me to start the car and go straight. I start moving, switch from one to two and go for a while. He then tells me to make a u-turn, which I execute successfully, and then he says ‘pull aside’, which I also do. I’m then told to get out of the car and one of the other wannabes takes the driver’s seat.
I just passed the test.
So I can go straight quite well and I make one hell of a u-turn. But I’m not exactly sure that constitutes as driving. So I say I can’t. Also, driving has a lot to do with experience and by the time I qualified to get a license in Turkey, I already lived in Pittsburgh without a car, after which I moved to New York City. So I’ve had a license for eight years and I’ve driven all of four days in that time.
As for the bike, that story is even more pathetic. My sister can ride a bike beautifully. By the time it got to me, my parents were thoroughly unmotivated and never even bothered to teach me. While it’s impossible to ride a bike in Istanbul, people ride it often in Burgaz, the island we live on during the summer, so I would have had the change to practice. But nope, they never bothered. They must have known my lack of ability way back then.
During my senior year in college, Jake tried to teach me how to ride a bike, but all I can say is that when you’re twenty-one the ground is much farther away than when you’re six. Let’s just say the experiment wasn’t all that successful and leave it at that.
So here I am, almost 27, and still unable to ride a bike or drive.
All the more reason to move to California.
Previously? Perfection.
Leave a Reply