I'm A Deadbeat

People constantly question me and my disinterest in obtaining my driver's license. Everyone wants me to have the damn thing. I suppose I'll have to get it eventually, so it's not a question of "if", but "when". I haven't gotten it yet for a variety of reasons.

The first and probably biggest reason would have to be my apathy. I just don't give a shit, frankly. I don't have any reason to drive, so I'm not going to. It doesn't bother me that much. I take that back. It doesn't bother me at all. Usually, there's a ride available to me wherever I want to go. If there isn't, I walk. A couple weeks ago, my ride never showed up. So I made the seven mile walk back. I felt pangs of bitterness and spite within me, but I didn't give a damn. Because I knew what I was doing. People shouldn't have to worry about me walking, because I tend to handle myself rather well. Oh well. About a two hours later, I was home. Starving as I was, I made a pizza. A meat-lovers, which should say something about how hungry I was, because I'm not a fan of the meat-lovers. Enough bitching and moaning about pizza. A knock at the door, and I'm holding the knife I was cutting the pizza with in a death-grip.

"Who is it?"

"Police."

Shit.

I threw the knife across the room and opened the door. Part of me already knew why they were there, but I went through the motions and said, "How may I help ya officers?" They asked if I was ****n *****d. I said I was. They said that I was missing, which was news to me because I didn't know I was lost. Perhaps it is always surprising to my mother that I make it home without getting raped in twenty different ways and left lying in a ditch. Needless to say, we sorted it all out in a matter of minutes and the officers were nice enough to contact my family since we didn't have a phone (we've since rectified that.) As it turns out, my mother had sent a rather incompetant fellow to get me. After getting explicit instructions, he went the wrong way entirely and they had been looking for me for hours. Whatever.


The second reason why I don't drive is because other people scare me shitless. Things are funny because they're so true and that's why people laugh when George Carlin talked about not fucking with the ghost car. How do people like that keep their license? Ugh. Bastards having five conversations on their cell phones and gnawing on their McMuffins, cutting across eight lanes of traffic makes my hair stand on end. Hell, whenever someone hits the brakes inordinately hard, my fucking heart seizes up. Goddamnit. I'm afraid that I'll over-react in situations like this, and I've already demonstrated it by figitting about ceaselessly. I know the rules, like avoid Lincolns and Mercurys like the fucking plague, but I still am terrified.

Lastly, I just can't afford it, to be honest. It's not the car itself. I have more than a few family members willing to give me an automobile, which I'm incredibly thankful for. I can't afford the gas or the insurance. Really. During the entire winter season, I only worked fifteen hours. That's because I work at a golf course AND I am a student. School cuts into it. I can't work after school because the Sun thinks it's being funny when it sets at five in the afternoon. So the car would be languishing in disuse for three months while I would bumble about in boredom and poverty.

I don't want to drive because it's just another goddamn nuisance. It's not a statement on the environment. It's that I'm lazy and completely irresponsible.