"Come on, we're going for a ride," Christine beckoned. She still had rollers in her hair and she and Carol were standing outside my bedroom window wearing pajamas, robes, and wide, mischievous grins.
“I’m going out the side door,” I whispered, as I grabbed my green, quilted robe before tip-toeing down the hall past my parent’s open bedroom door.
Back in those days bench seats were common in cars and all three of us squeezed into the front seat. We were high school freshmen and Christine’s lack of a formal driver’s education or a legal license did not deter us from embarking on an early morning road trip. Wild and free before 5:00 a.m. Man-alive, I thought, it was going to be a great day. At that moment, I forever linked the act of driving with the feeling of freedom.
Twenty years later I found myself a resident of the sprawling metropolis of Shanghai where I was chauffeured around town in a slinky, black Lexus. Door-to-door service wherever and whenever I wanted to go. After a week or so the novelty wore off, and I missed having my own set of wheels. After a little digging by my assistant, okay my husband’s assistant, it was revealed that foreigners could indeed get driver’s licenses in China. My driver found my interest in obtaining a license amusing; in due course I would discover why. China did not offer reciprocal recognition of U.S. driver’s licenses. Which meant, if I wanted to drive, I would have to pass their test.
As in the states, the Chinese Transportation Department’s licensing process for drivers involves a written and a practical exam. In the states, prospective drivers receive a book of traffic laws to study which they are then tested on. In China, I received the test of traffic laws along with the test answers; which I studiously memorized. In the states, a practical exam involves demonstrating your driving ability with an evaluator in the car with you. In China, I would discover that the practical exam was something entirely different.
Another departure from the way it is done back home is the order of testing. In the states, in order to qualify for the practical, or driving portion of the test, you must pass the written portion first. In China it is the other way around. Emphasizing driving skills over traffic laws explains in the casual regard most Chinese motorists have for traffic laws.
My driver accompanied me to the testing facility. Eager, I suppose, to see how I would fare on the exam. Initially, I thought we were in the wrong place. This did not look like the bleak, dingy, over-crowded DMV facilities I had been subjected to in New Jersey. This resembled, no kidding, a carnival. There was a definite festive mood to the air. I was given a check sheet indicating rooms I was to visit. Each room contained a different examination. After successful completion of a task I was given a “chop” or stamp from the examiner. All were apparently critical components to operating a motor vehicle. There was no particular order, but I had to complete and pass each one prior to being allowed to take the written exam.
The hearing test was straight-forward and similar to ones I had taken during annual physical exams. I am not aware if deaf people are prevented from driving in the states, but in China it is grounds for disqualification. Next was the vision test. Makes sense that eyesight is necessary for driving. But here is where the Chinese are a bit more stringent than the states; apparently color-blindness is also grounds for disqualification.
A relevant tangent if I may; in China everything is negotiable. As many business people will attest, in China, the real negotiation starts after the contract is signed. I have witnessed negotiations over restaurant bills and at the grocery check out. So it should not have come as a surprise that when the guy ahead of me was disqualified for driving due to color-blindness, he was not going to depart quietly. Thus, a negotiation ensued between the color blind guy and the test proctor. Luckily for those of us waiting, reinforcements were brought in from other stations to get the line moving again. I was quickly tested to the sound of an increasingly heated negotiation.
Next up was the depth perception test. I sat at the end of what resembled a shuffle board table. Mid-way down the length of the table was a board, perpendicular to the test taker, with a notch missing. Running the length of the table and through the notch was a cable. Once I sat down and indicated that I was ready, the tester sent a target down the cable in my direction. I was supposed to press a button when the target passed through the notch in the perpendicular board; seemed simple enough. Evidently my driver was not so confident in my abilities. He stationed himself beside the perpendicular board and as the target passed through the notch he began to gesture emphatically with outstretched arms. I was so surprised at his thrusting arm movements that I almost missed pressing the button.
I may have failed the next portion of the practical exam, because frankly, I never understood it. For this task I stood in front of a a spinning wheel about the size of a dinner plate. It was positioned about chest high. Red dots covered the wheel. The object was to guide a needle through, or around, the red dots. I simply wove my way around and through red dots until they told me to stop. My driver seemed a little disappointed in me at that point.
One more driving challenge to go and a chance to redeem myself after my last performance. A large and boisterous crowd pressed into the doorway of my remaining driving challenge. I would soon discover that it was not the test that was so entertaining, but rather, the test proctor. A test taker sat at a table. Across the table from her was a standard traffic light; red, yellow, and green. There were buttons at each hand and a pedal under the right foot. The point of the test was to gauge reflexes and eye-hand coordination; red light illumination required pressing the foot pedal, green light the right-hand button, and yellow light the left-hand button.
The current test taker was rather uncoordinated so the test proctor was taking extra measures to assist her. She had a long stick in her hand and was whacking the table next to the test taker’s hand indicating what button to press as the lights blinked on and off. All this whacking and the crowds’ shouts and laughter had completely unnerved the test taker. Undeterred, the test proctor seemed resolute that no one was failing her test. She continued to whack away with her stick to roars from the crowd and frantic squeals and twitches from the test taker.
When the victim left I was unclear whether she had passed or failed, but I did not have time to contemplate it because my driver pushed me through the door and into the seat. The test proctor gave me a challenging look and explained in Mandarin what I was supposed to do. I nodded my understanding; not because I understood Mandarin, but because I did not want to get whacked. She had her stick at the ready. Despite the pressure of the hungry crowd and stern proctor I passed the test quickly; the stick was never used on me. The crowd, initially out for blood, cheered my success. Soon we would be adversaries on the road, but for a moment we savored each other’s victories.
Despite flubbing the driving wheel portion of the practical exam, I was cleared for the written portion. I was anxious to proceed as I did not know how much longer my short-term memory would hold up. I felt test answers leaking out of my head. As it turned out, I had nothing to worry about. I quickly dispatched the written test and received a perfect score.
In short order I was the proud recipient of a Chinese driver’s license. I had a stronger sense of accomplishment than when I got my Texas driver’s license at 18. And while I never sat behind the wheel of a car with an impassive state trooper in the passenger seat holding the clipboard of shame, I think it is fair to point out that when I took the practical exam in Texas I never left second gear of my father’s Honda Civic for the entire driving portion of the test.
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