Abunai Abunai Abunai

Do you remember the feeling you had when you finally had a driver's license? That feeling of freedom, adulthood incarnate in a plastic card. Your awkward half-grimace/half-smile squinting back at you from behind the shimmering holographic seal. The world was your oyster and the only thing holding you back was your seat belt.

Flash forward and you're living in Japan, driving on the wrong...oops, sorry, left...side of the road. Traffic lights are horizontal and red, yellow and "blue." Stop signs are in kanji and shaped like  yield sign. And the windshield wipers and turn signals are switched. You spend your first month smearing bugs on your windshield when all you want to do is turn left.

Come early spring, it's time to upgrade your international driving permit to the real deal. First step, look at your passport. Are you from the UK? Australia? New Zealand? Certain parts of Africa? The moon? Lucky you: you just have to pass a written test and hand in a handful of papers. Oh, you're from America?

Let the fun begin.

I was wondered why I was so "blessed" and actually found out: because Americans receive state issued driver's licenses, not government issued, they're not really considered as following a standard code of road safety requirements. One state's ideals could vary from another...well, let's be honest, Pennsylvania drivers? Yeah. Japan might actually have something there.

You'd think since I've been driving here for almost a year with no moving violations, I could just be "grandfathered" into receiving a license, but nope. Not when there's paperwork to do! Some of the process was-gasp-actually fun! I enjoyed going to the City Hall and getting a copy of my resident certificate: a great opportunity to practice some formal Japanese. I liked going to Morioka for my Japanese Translation of an American License: the gents at the office were friendly...and cute! And I enjoy the occasional drive to Morioka from time to time. It gives me an excuse to stop at cafe and get a little baked treat and foamy beverage.

All that's done and over, though. The next step in the process after compiling the documents is going to the driving center with a hired helper to have said documents examined. Keep in mind, it's been a couple months since you started. So naturally, your heart screams "DOKI DOKI DOKI DOKI" as you sit, rigid-backed, while the grandfatherly police officer flips through your papers and asks you questions through the interpreter.

You're asked about when you got your license...18? So late? Oh...what's a "provisional" license. Ah, like a "junior" license. Ok Ok. You're asked how long you drove in America. What kind of car? Manual? Automatic? American? Oh, Honda? Yes, yes, number 1!

And on and on. All you can think is, I'm charming. Look at me. Look how charming I am. Be charmed by me. Let me survive the inquisition!

Hooray! You passed the exam. Pony up some dough and set a date to return and take the written test and driving practicum. Ojii-san smiles and tells you he thinks you'll pass the written test, no problem. But you notice his obvious neglect to say you'll pass the driving test. And the laughing faces of the Japanese teachers float into your memory from when you told them what you'd be doing this week. "Good luck," the faces laugh. "Good luck."

Before leaving, the helper shows you the driving course behind the building and the posted course for that week. It changes bi-weekly, but it's good to know...ahead of time. She also draws a map of the course you will take and gives you detailed, handy tips including where to stop and look around and what to watch out for. It's a long list.

The day arrives. Thank goodness another co-worker is going up to the center and offers you a ride, so you don't have to figure out the bus schedule. (Personally, I think I have trust issues...I don't trust myself to get on the right bus or get off at the right stop. This was a problem in America, too)

The written test isn't difficult at all. With only 10 questions, thankfully provided in English and with illustrations, you pass easily. Of course, you're a paranoid mess, so in the waiting room, you flip through your English translation of the driving manual and check your answers.

Finally, it's time. In your mind, you roll through the steps to take before even getting in the car:

Walk around and check around and under the vehicle.
Approach the driver's door.
Look over your left shoulder.
Open the door.
Bow and say "Yoroshiku onegaishimasu."
Resume breathing.

When you get in, adjust everything. Listen to the Japanese instructions. Barely understand. Begin.

Signal right.
Look over your shoulder.
Signal left.
Look over your shoulder.
Start the course.
Resume breathing...briefly.

The course looks easy enough, but memorizing the steps and putting them into practice behind the wheel of an unfamiliar car are totally separate. For example, I've been driving my little K-car, roughly the length of a coffee table. The car at the driving center is more like a limousine.

So I failed. I expected it, of course, I'm not naive. But I didn't think I'd fail halfway through.

At one point, you enter the "L-turn" and the "crank" which are very tight and angular paths that you must maneuver without straying from the road or hitting the barriers around the path. I made it through the first corner of the L and tried making the second...only to hear the sharp intake of breath beside me and tap the nose of the car into the barrier.

Instant fail.

"Abunai, abunai, abunai," he tells you. Dangerous.

At this point, I found out I also hadn't looked over my shoulder properly for the left turns I made. Upon consulting with the other foreigner, it's more likely I was just looking too fast for him to count the effort.

So we went back to the starting point and I made a reservation for another test. The woman who takes the money for reservations smiled and asked if I was nervous, then wished me good luck for the next time.

Tomorrow, I'll return for take two. We can only improve, right?