Friday, August 22, 2008

Highway to the Danger Zone?

As most of you know—because it is my favorite self-deprecating thing to mention, second only to my former unibrow—I didn't learn to drive until I was 25. I've chronicled that experience in three parts, if you want to read them (they're really not that long and can be found here, here, and here). Anyway, since I am a city child adult and don't own a car, I haven't really practiced much since, mostly because it's hard to find someone that wants to ride shotgun next to a new driver. They laugh—half scared, half patronizing—and say things like, "I'll let you drive once we get off the highway." But how am I supposed to LEARN how to drive on the highway if no one will let me?

Answer: get a Zipcar. Only Zipcar members are covered by insurance, and thus unless your husband wants to pay $50 for the privilege of driving your ass to Rhode Island (he doesn't), you will find yourself about to drive for the very first time not only on the highway but on the BQE during Friday rush hour. Whoo baptism by fire! (Hopefully not literal).


  1. I wish you the best of luck. And never once did I even think, "boy I'm glad I live on the WEST coast."

  2. If I can entice you another 45 minutes northward during the weekend, let me know. I've got a 4-dayer, and I also have some pretty radical t-shirts. And I'm not talking about the "Free Nelson Mandela" kind of radical t-shirts.


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