MUSINGS Driving Miss Lazy

Driving Miss Lazy


Diary of a homebird
Ciara Galvin

I was a late starter coming to the whole driving business. My male roomie used to take me to the local racecourse as a teenager to drive up and down the entrance road, but it wasn’t until the ripe old age of 21 that I sat behind the wheel properly. And although I passed my driving test on the first go, I wouldn’t class myself as the best driver ever. Let’s just say my attention to detail has seen me encounter a few close shaves.
Only last week I blatantly abandoned my attention to detail. Pulling into a petrol station a little worse for wear I made sure to park at the entrance of the shop (a mix of laziness and fear of getting some exercise). Paying for my Capri Sun and Chickatees (essential hangover food), I left the shop. Here’s where it gets good.
So, there I am standing in the forecourt looking at a red Berlingo van where I parked my car thinking, ‘Is my car a transformer / Am I on some sort of hidden camera show?’. After walking around the van aimlessly, my car (black beauty) caught my eye. Fifteen feet from where I had originally parked it.
Quickly surveying the area for onlookers, I made a dash for the car. Lo and behold, I hadn’t put on the hand-brake. Thanking my lucky stars that the car hadn’t rolled into anything, or anyone, I continued on my journey, admittedly a little shaken.
I wish I could tell you this was the first time this has happened to me, as I’m sure all of you would be empathetic from your own experiences and ‘mishaps’. But no. This isn’t even on the scale of stupidity compared to my next tale of ‘forgetfulness’.
Just over a year ago, my sister, being the generous big sis that she is, let me borrow her brand-spanking-new car for the day. Spinning around town thinking I was ‘The Stig’ I grabbed lunch and drove to the homestead to overindulge.
Reading the newspaper and of course catching up on the goings-ons in Summer Bay, I hadn’t a care in the world. Until my female roomie interrupted. “Ciara, what’s going on across the road?”
Madre’s friend had noticed a peculiar sight across the road outside our neighbour’s house and wondered if we knew anything about it.
I ran to the bay window and thought my glasses were deceiving me. Across the road was the pristine motor I had been entrusted with, in the driveway of my neighbour’s house. I had forgotten to press the fancy hand-brake button and the car had rolled from our drive across the road, and docked itself elsewhere, perhaps in the hope of finding a less-forgetful guardian.
I assured mother there wouldn’t be a scratch on it (while praying to God, Allah, Buddha and anyone else that would listen that there wouldn’t be). For a moment, though, I did forget how much trouble I could be in if the car was damaged – I looked at my handy work and thought, ‘Wow, if I had planned to do this I wouldn’t have managed it!’
I got the miraculously dent-free car back to its rightful place and breathed a sigh of relief – I got away with it, it will remain a secret forever. Then the phone rang. A friend of my sister’s had passed the ‘erratic parking’ and knew I had the car. After admitting the blunder, I was told my secret was safe. Phewww.
However, now feels like the time. Better late than never I guess. Here goes: Sorry sis.

In her fortnightly Diary of a Home Bird column, Ciara Galvin reveals the trials and tribulations of a twenty-something year old still living with her parents.