The Commonwealth of Massachusetts is of the opinion I’m a menace to the road. In fact, I’m such a threat to man and beast when I get behind the wheel, the Registry of Motor Vehicles threatened to pull my license if I didn’t pony up $125 to attend a day-long, re-education seminar called “Attitudinal Dynamics of Driving.”

First off, there’s nothing wrong with my attitude about driving. I love to buzz around in my wheels. Roadtrips ‘R’ Us. However, the RMV’s attitude about my car accident last month was a much different story.

I totaled my 2005 Saab wagon a few weeks ago when I rear-ended another Saab on Route 123 in Scituate. And back in 2012 I was cited for my failure to heed a stop sign in Wellesley and some other infraction that day that escapes me.

“Anytime a motorist is found responsible for three or more surchargeable events in a two year period, the motorist is required by law to attend and pass the Driver Retraining Program,” according to the letter I received in the mail.

Hence, my 8-hour “retraining” the other day in a windowless room in a West Bridgewater office building.

There were 14 of us road menaces in the cramped classroom rented by the National Safety Council. I was one of three women and the oldest of the bunch. Also, I was one of maybe three who was not a repeat visitor. One kid was on his fourth class. The girl in the pink hoodie had to take two classes – the one on Tuesday, another next week. Geesh.

I also had a valid Massachusetts driver’s license. Many did not. And the RMV, not the courts, had sent me there. Phew.

Before our re-education, ground rules were set: No one can leave the building except at lunchtime. And no one could hang around the front entry because it scares the patients who have appointments in the doctors’ offices next door.

“Some of you look menacing,” said the instructor, a gruff, no-nonsense guy in his 60s. “People don’t want to get out of their cars. It’s the landlord’s rule, not mine.”

For the illiterate amongst us, he continued with a recitation of the “Rules of Operation and Conduct Policy” posted on the wall:

A student may be dismissed or barred from the class for tardiness; intoxication; consumption of controlled substances on the premises; rudeness; vulgar or disruptive behavior; carrying firearms or smoking in the classroom; or for inattentiveness such as sleeping, reading materials not contained in the course of instruction during the class. Students dismissed from violating the rules of conduct may be readmitted at the discretion of the National Safety Council and the Registry of Motor Vehicles.

It seemed pretty straight forward, but students fail to remember them, get kicked out and must re-schedule another session. And, yes, pay another $125, said the instructor.

Next, he went around the room to find out why we were there. It was gold, Jerry. Gold!*

One guy from New Bedford who sat in front of me spewed vitriol about the cops and how one wrote him up because he left his car running while inside a 7-Eleven. Apparently that’s a no-no.

“I have no respect for cops,” he barked. “They’re supposed to protect us but all they do is violate our civil rights.”

In fact, the Hater was so angry he was bagged for something so stupid, he began to videotape the cop on his cellphone. I didn’t say he was a genius. This young father of two toddlers also proudly admitted he periodically outruns the cops in his souped-up Dodge Charger. Wanna bet this idiot’s photo is tacked up in his local police precinct? He also said he’s had 14 points added to his insurance. Only 14???

Another kid got bagged for drag racing in his BMW. He lost his license and his Beemer. I suspect there’s more to that tale…

There were more than a few OUIs, a couple of texting incidents, inspection sticker problems, lots of excessive speed (‘driving to endanger’), tailgating aka “aggressive driving,” and a rather nice, polite kid from the ‘burbs whose long rocker dude hair obstructed his view of the road and caused a three-car pile-up.

When it was my turn to tell my menacing back-story, I held back a few of the details. I offered up that I was distracted and rear-ended a car that was stopped to make a left-hand turn. Period.

I chose to edit out that I took my eyes off the road when I glanced to see if my farm stand had cornstalks for sale. I wanted to decorate my porch for fall, you see…

Look, I already stuck out like a sore thumb in my hoodie-less J. Jill ensemble, Barbour coat and prescription reading glasses. I just wanted to fit in, dammit.

Seated to my left in the back row was a 40ish African-American man with a file folder filled with summonses, warning letters and a few other official looking documents. He dropped into a conversation about his new 15-seat passenger van that he had 23 kids, three of whom were 3-years-old from three different women.

“You sure you don’t play in the NBA,” I joked.

“No, I don’t,” he said obviously oblivious to the reference. “I’m a businessman and none of my kids is being taken care of by the state. I put my older kids through college. I work hard, man,” he told me.

“You sure do,” I said much to the amusement of the class.

Later, he told me he owns real estate, a vending machine company and plays the stock market. He bought Converse stock cheap before Nike bought the local company in 2003 for $305 million. And when Facebook’s shares took a Face-plant after its IPO, he bought at the bottom. It’s now trading around $80 per share.

I decided I liked this guy and we kind of bonded. He razzed me about my workbook doodles (‘Grapes? Boxes? Flowers? Can’t you draw nothin’ else?) and when it was my turn to call on somebody in the class, I picked him. “No one makes fun of my doodles,” I told him.

Other tidbits from my neighbor: He was stabbed in the back – literally – and has a medical marijuana license. I knew there was a reason he was so chill.

The class instruction was a mix of anecdotes from the teacher (many of which went on waaaay too long), exercises in a workbook as well as a standardized driving self-assessment survey.

I scored high in the Power/Competitive category, but I also scored points for my courtesy to other drivers. Yes, yes, I did, Gayle Fee.

Since this blog is usually about food, at lunchtime I drove across the street to Chili’s where I ordered a mediocre chicken enchilada dish, a cup of soup (that arrived cold) and iced tea.

While awaiting my meal, I flipped through issues of Saveur and Fine Cooking to check out holiday recipes. Somehow I don’t think I could have done that next-door at Wendy’s with my fellow road terrorists without being mocked. Besides, I felt so grateful for a valid driver’s license in my wallet, I had to use it!

Moving on…

During the latter half of the day, we were shown a couple of National Safety Council videos. The acting was so bad in the first flick it was comical. But like the proverbial train wreck, you couldn’t help to watch. So maybe there was a method to the madness. This vid was shown during the “don’t drive under the influence of alcohol, street or prescription drugs or over-the-counter meds” part of the program.

I don’t know who was my favorite – the high schooler who wheeled his bike erratically after he downed two cold medications or the annoying 20something who took a handful of anti-anxiety drugs as she bitched about her boyfriend while on the phone with a friend. Later, she then hopped in the car to drive her younger sibs to a concert. None of these scenerios ended well. But you knew that already.

The next video showed drivers breaking the law and you had to pick out the infractions. Wait, you can’t pass on the right on the shoulder? You can get ticketed for beeping your horn or tailgating? Yup.

Truthfully, I didn’t remember the rule about keeping your distance from the car in front of you. The instructor said you’re supposed to count “1-1000, 2-1000, 3-1000” from the time the car in front of you passes a landmark.

“Come on. Who does that,” I asked. “Isn’t there some rule about car lengths?”

The teacher got a little testy with me – but not as p.o.-ed as he was with the Arab student who said he understood English but couldn’t speak it very well. Ooooh, that was ugly, especially after he was bagged going out to his car during a break.

The instructor said I should have learned the tailgating rules in driver’s ed. You mean that course I took 37 years ago?

“Cut me some slack here,” I laughed. (He didn’t.)

He offered up an alternative: Keep back 100 feet for every 10 miles per hour the car is traveling. So if it’s 50 mph, it’s 500 feet. That seems excessive but I didn’t want to belabor the issue. Besides it was getting late and Father of the Year next to me had a meeting to get to by 5 p.m. It was probably with his broker. Or maybe the medical marijuana dispensary was going to close. I didn’t ask.

The high drama came at the end when the anonymous course evaluations were completed and collected. The instructor became furious over one evaluation that gave him a poor score and elaborated on his performance in a F-word-laced tirade.

However, the kid began his venomous eval with this, “Please excuse the profanity, but it can’t be helped.” (Of course I read it. I even played Sherlock Holmes by comparing penmanship on the course sign-in sheet. I concluded it was the down-on-his-luck kid seated to my right.)

A couple of class veterans chimed in that he was the best instructor they’ve ever had. Even Cop Hater gave him a good score. In fact, the guy’s chip on his shoulder didn’t seem as deep by the end of class.

I stayed after class was dismissed and tried to placate the shaken instructor. One idiot’s poor assessment shouldn’t cause him to change his teaching style. After I thanked him, I drove out of the parking lot with both hands on the wheel, my seat belt fastened and my eyes straight ahead.

When I got on Route 24 North, I tested the “1-1000, 2-1000” tailgate rule since I can’t eyeball 100 feet never mind 650. But the process distracted me. So I put on my directional and changed lanes. Seemed safer that way.

* A “Seinfeld” reference.

 

Tags: #TheFoodsmith, carinsurance, driverretraining, driversed, lauraraposa, nationalsafetycouncil, registryofmotorvehicles