behind the wheel

One of my more colorful memories is of the behind-the-wheel training that I completed during my senior year of high school. The course was led by a middle-aged man who I will call Mr. Nam.

On our first day of training, a famished Mr. Nam had the other student, “Steven”, drive us to the Popeyes across the street because he was hungry. Steven used the emergency brake after he parked, and I was intrigued. With Mr. Nam ahead of us, I had Steven quietly explain to me why he used the emergency brake because I didn’t want Mr. Nam to know that I had never used it before. It turned out that Steven wasn’t sure why he was using it either so that’s when I realized that the emergency brake is just for show.

For twenty minutes at this unexpected location, we chatted while Mr. Nam consumed his chicken and soda. We learned that Steven was a junior and loved all things sports, which I later discovered would make him think that he was above me. I felt like we bonded the most when Mr. Nam found out that I was applying to UVa and commented on how embarrassing it would be if I didn’t get in. I was left speechless at this oddity of a man.

Mr. Nam continued to show us his quirky side with his unique training tactics. In an attempt to encourage us to drive carefully, Mr. Nam would tell us to imagine that we had a cup of hot coffee balanced on our heads. If we made a mistake, he would remark on how many imaginary coffee drops had spilt on him. “Drop of hot coffee” somehow became a scientific unit of measurement to calculate the level of discomfort passengers felt in that beat up car. Once, Mr. Nam pitted Steven against me by having him say how many drops had spilt on him after I braked forcefully on a hill. Steven then gave a liberal estimate of the spilt coffee, which created an unnecessarily competitive atmosphere.

Mr. Nam’s biggest test was asking us what the speed limit was. Although it was never a challenge, he would praise us for how well we had done. Honestly, he was a nice guy.

As with any relationship, trust was built over those four weeks. It started off with Mr. Nam trying to sell us phone plans, and peaked when he began to take naps while we were driving. During those times, Steven and I would glance in the rear view mirror to see the other laughing quietly. We made sure not to spill any imaginary coffee then.

By the end, they felt like distant family, but family nonetheless. We had a special bond that comes from risking our lives together once a week.

On our last day, Mr. Nam left us in an office for about an hour. Steven and I decided to play hangman to pass the time. When it was his turn, he chose Robert Griffin III as his “phrase” and when I couldn’t figure it out, he passionately recited the following soliloquy: “You don’t know who RG3 is? Are you serious? Who doesn’t know who RG3 is? Do you even watch sports? He was in the newspaper!” I decided to disown Steven that day.

I never really saw Mr. Nam or Steven again, but sometimes I think about them as I sit in traffic. Back in 2018, I was in a car accident where the car flipped over. I think about how if Mr. Nam were there, I would’ve been able to find out how many drops of coffee he thinks is in a cup.