When I turned 16 and got my driver’s license, my parents (read: evil stepfather at the time) made me wait a few months before I could regularly drive on my own. My birthday is in December, and he figured I should wait until spring when all the deadly snow and ice had melted. So when the birds started chirping, I was thrilled to get out of the house and into “my” car (the piece of shit my parents bought and let me use to shuttle my younger siblings around).

One day I had to bring my sister to the mall to, I don’t know, get her ears pierced or meet guys or something. After shopping, we were leaving the parking lot, and I was attempting to make a left turn into fast-moving heavy traffic. I sat there a long time waiting for an opening, but since traffic was pretty steady, I wasn’t having any luck.

All of a sudden there was a man at my window. Apparently he came from the car behind me because he started lecturing me about how it shouldn’t take this long to turn left, and don’t I know that I can just get into the middle lane there and then merge into an opening?

I was pissed. Excuse me, but don’t approach my window and tell me how to drive. First of all, I’m not entirely sure that’s even legal, and as a new driver I’d rather not risk getting a ticket just because you’re an impatient bastard. There are other exits ya know? Second, my sister is in the car with me so I’m responsible for her life right now if you don’t mind. And third, fuck off asshole.

I didn’t say any of those things of course. Just smiled and nodded and rolled up my window. I’m more the passive-aggressive type. Instead of giving him a piece of my mind, I just sat there blocking his exit for as long as I could stand. I fiddled with the radio and adjusted my mirrors and let many an opening pass me by. Finally, when I could see that he was thoroughly agitated and perhaps ready to pull a weapon on me, I gave him one final smirk in my rear view mirror and pulled into traffic.

Basically what I’m saying is don’t tell me how to drive. Maybe I can’t back into a parking space with ease, and maybe I ran over that turtle that one time, but I’m actually a good driver and usually err on the side of caution, if anything.

I definitely don’t mind being the passenger though, I actually prefer it much of the time. But if I do happen to be the one driving, you better back off. I don’t like being told when I’m not doing something the exact way you’d prefer it. Just ask Brad. Not that he tells me how to drive often, but even when he ventures to make a suggestion…

Oh did you want to drive? Why didn’t you say so? Here I’ll just pull over and you can get behind the wheel because obviously you know what you’re doing so much better than I do. Must be because you’ve been driving a whole eight months longer than me. Oh no, you don’t want to drive? Well then why don’t you let me do it since I’m the one in the driver’s seat!