I can totally absolutely almost nearly drive. With a practical test quite this imminent you would kind of hope that the only thing holding me back at this stage is a lack of confidence. Provided I don’t run the car off a cliff while the examiner’s watching I should be pretty much fine. Or forget to check my bloody mirrors. Or pull up yards away from the edge of the curb. Fine, I’m probably in some trouble.
But we’re not talking about test driving here, I mean we are – didn’t you see the title? However, the variety of automotive operation to which we are referring isn’t the kind where all the scrutiny’s on you. Someone with a clipboard and a stern expression won’t be sitting opposite you and minutely observing every single move you make. I’m definitely not in my head about this, I don’t know what you’re talking about.
This style of test driving has so much more to do with privilege. You get to settle into a brand new set of wheels (new to you of course, not necessarily new to the world or anything. This is most certainly not a chip on my shoulder about not having a stupid amount of money available to blow on a factory fresh driving machine) and play mind games with the salesperson as to whether or not you’ll be going through with a purchase.
So do anything you need to in order to really get the feel for the vehicle. Whatever feels natural, toss some screaming and sticky children in the back seat, mow down a pensioner or seven, burn some serious rubber and to hell with the consequences of eagle eyed speed cameras. That’s how proper drivers behave, right? The rules only apply before you get hold of that coveted license, I’m sure.
Test drive – John Powell