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Murphy’s Law, written by Barbara Murphy, appears monthly in The Golden Times. The column represents the opinion of the author and is not necessarily the opinion of the publisher.
Driver’s Remorse: The Day I Knew
It Was Time To Turn In The Car Keys
“What’s it like to give up driving?”
People, eyes filled with horror and pity, have been asking me that question ever since I turned in my car keys a month ago.
What they should have asked: “What’s it like to give up driving, turn 80, lose a part-time job you loved and needed, have one of the main plumbing lines in your bathroom spring a leak, and have your doctor declare that you must be tested for a ‘deadly virus’ — all at the same time?”
I can’t believe any of this is happening to me. But I try to keep my sanity by reciting the words of a wise African-American lady whom I interviewed on the occasion of her 102nd birthday. When I asked the secret to her longevity, she said, “go with the flow.”
I also try to take to heart the advice a friend of mine gives to her grown daughters when they come to cry on her shoulder about their troubles. “Suck it up and deal with it,” she tells them.
Lacking the stoicism of the 102-year-old lady and the tough realism of my friend, I blubber: “How can I go with the flow without a car? I can’t go anywhere without a car! How can I suck up a plumber’s bill estimated at $5400 without the money from the job I lost? And what’s the use of it all, anyway, if I’m doomed to die of a ‘deadly virus.’”
Well, you ask, if giving up driving is such a problem, why did you do it?
The answer is short and sweet — no, short and bitter. I had four accidents in four months.
The first two were fender benders — one on the road and the other in a parking lot. The third was at a very busy intersection at night. I had recently invested in special glasses for night driving. Nevertheless, I did not see a car coming toward me as I made a left turn and I sideswiped the other car. The damage was minor and nobody was hurt — thank God. The car I hit was driven by a man who had his wife and three small children with him!
I swore off night driving on the spot but continued to drive in the daytime until the day I came within inches of hitting the car in front of me. When I realized that I was headed into the rear of that car, I hit the brake pedal, or what I thought was the brake pedal. It wasn’t. I had hit the accelerator pedal. A split second later, I realize what I had done and slammed on the brakes. They screeched hideously and my car fish-tailed, but miraculously the car in front of me suddenly sped up and there was no one driving along side of me. I didn’t hit anything, but I knew there and then that my driving days were over.
Later that night, I had a momentary lapse and said to myself, “maybe my bad luck has run out and I can still drive.” But, a voice — I swear it was the voice of God — said, “no you can’t keep on driving, dimwit. You don’t have the moral right to put your life and the lives of other people at risk. Don’t ever get behind the wheel again.”
I haven’t.
How do I manage? First, I have my groceries delivered. Second, I take Community Transit, a service for which I am enormously grateful. For a modest price, Community Transit takes me where I need to go.
I also have excellent public transportation in my neighborhood and I use that when I have a companion willing and able to push my arthritic butt up the stairs. Also — thank God — I have many friends who take me places and run errands for me. However, I try to keep my demands on them to a minimum since there’s nothing more inglorious than exploiting the kindness of others.
The chief problem of becoming a non-driver is that you have to organize your life and plan ahead. For instance, Community Transit wants at least 48 hours notice, and last minute appeals to friends for help is a sure-fire way to eventually alienate everybody you know.
However, I have managed to stay alive and get where I want to go without a car.
And I am determined to suck it up and solve the other problems, at least those that can be solved. I can’t do anything about being 80 (as much as I wish I could), but I can pay the plumber out of my savings (as much as I hate seeing that money go literally down the toilet) and I can get the test and treatment for the “deadly virus” (which, if you are curious is digestive and neither venereal nor contagious).
However, I would be dishonest to say that I am coping with all this cheerfully and courageously. I blubber about my bad luck and wonder why I am being punished. Move over, Job. You have a mate in misery.
*
Barbara Murphy, 80, writes about controversial issues each month.
It Was Time To Turn In The Car Keys
“What’s it like to give up driving?”
People, eyes filled with horror and pity, have been asking me that question ever since I turned in my car keys a month ago.
What they should have asked: “What’s it like to give up driving, turn 80, lose a part-time job you loved and needed, have one of the main plumbing lines in your bathroom spring a leak, and have your doctor declare that you must be tested for a ‘deadly virus’ — all at the same time?”
I can’t believe any of this is happening to me. But I try to keep my sanity by reciting the words of a wise African-American lady whom I interviewed on the occasion of her 102nd birthday. When I asked the secret to her longevity, she said, “go with the flow.”
I also try to take to heart the advice a friend of mine gives to her grown daughters when they come to cry on her shoulder about their troubles. “Suck it up and deal with it,” she tells them.
Lacking the stoicism of the 102-year-old lady and the tough realism of my friend, I blubber: “How can I go with the flow without a car? I can’t go anywhere without a car! How can I suck up a plumber’s bill estimated at $5400 without the money from the job I lost? And what’s the use of it all, anyway, if I’m doomed to die of a ‘deadly virus.’”
Well, you ask, if giving up driving is such a problem, why did you do it?
The answer is short and sweet — no, short and bitter. I had four accidents in four months.
The first two were fender benders — one on the road and the other in a parking lot. The third was at a very busy intersection at night. I had recently invested in special glasses for night driving. Nevertheless, I did not see a car coming toward me as I made a left turn and I sideswiped the other car. The damage was minor and nobody was hurt — thank God. The car I hit was driven by a man who had his wife and three small children with him!
I swore off night driving on the spot but continued to drive in the daytime until the day I came within inches of hitting the car in front of me. When I realized that I was headed into the rear of that car, I hit the brake pedal, or what I thought was the brake pedal. It wasn’t. I had hit the accelerator pedal. A split second later, I realize what I had done and slammed on the brakes. They screeched hideously and my car fish-tailed, but miraculously the car in front of me suddenly sped up and there was no one driving along side of me. I didn’t hit anything, but I knew there and then that my driving days were over.
Later that night, I had a momentary lapse and said to myself, “maybe my bad luck has run out and I can still drive.” But, a voice — I swear it was the voice of God — said, “no you can’t keep on driving, dimwit. You don’t have the moral right to put your life and the lives of other people at risk. Don’t ever get behind the wheel again.”
I haven’t.
How do I manage? First, I have my groceries delivered. Second, I take Community Transit, a service for which I am enormously grateful. For a modest price, Community Transit takes me where I need to go.
I also have excellent public transportation in my neighborhood and I use that when I have a companion willing and able to push my arthritic butt up the stairs. Also — thank God — I have many friends who take me places and run errands for me. However, I try to keep my demands on them to a minimum since there’s nothing more inglorious than exploiting the kindness of others.
The chief problem of becoming a non-driver is that you have to organize your life and plan ahead. For instance, Community Transit wants at least 48 hours notice, and last minute appeals to friends for help is a sure-fire way to eventually alienate everybody you know.
However, I have managed to stay alive and get where I want to go without a car.
And I am determined to suck it up and solve the other problems, at least those that can be solved. I can’t do anything about being 80 (as much as I wish I could), but I can pay the plumber out of my savings (as much as I hate seeing that money go literally down the toilet) and I can get the test and treatment for the “deadly virus” (which, if you are curious is digestive and neither venereal nor contagious).
However, I would be dishonest to say that I am coping with all this cheerfully and courageously. I blubber about my bad luck and wonder why I am being punished. Move over, Job. You have a mate in misery.
*
Barbara Murphy, 80, writes about controversial issues each month.