#1: It Takes a Village: Training for my CDL

I'm not sure just when last year in Skagway I decided that if I came back for a second season, I was going to come back and play with the big kids, big kids being the motor coach drivers for HollandAmerica-Princess/Alaska (HAPA). They were the ones making all the money and having all of the fun. I wanted to be one of them. 

But it meant I had to learn how to drive a motor coach. 

Mmmm....

It takes a village to raise a child and to get me into the driver's seat. My mantra quickly became, "I am going to do this until I fail." As it turned out, I did fail. I mistook the CDL tester's question at a critical point in the testing and got an automatic failure. I have to confess, I popped. I haven't been so angry in decades and chewed him out for half an hour. His anal and officious attitude was beyond outrageous.

"You know very well I misunderstood you!" I roared, stomping my foot, punching the steering wheel, growling in his face. "OooooOOO!" Several "I don't like you's" tumbled out of my mouth, even an "In fact, I hate you right now! HATE YOU!" But the madder I got--injustice always a trigger--the cuter he thought I was. Which outraged me further. Man oh man, was I mad. Finally, I waggled my finger in his face and bellowed, "I can't retake this test for a week and a half, Mr. Big Britches! You owe me! What are you going to do for me? YOU OWE ME!"

He agreed to come out early the next morning and run me through it again.

Ooops, snow the next morning. Two inches! Mid-April! I rolled up in my car to the parking lot where we were doing the skills portion of our testing. Mr. Nice Guy (not) was setting out his cones. "Mr. Big Britches, are we really going to do this?" I asked.

"You're going to Alaska, aren't you? Get in the bus."

He had a point. I got in the bus. "But no shenanigans," I warned. "I'm not going to answer any of your questions. You hear me? None, nada, zip. I'm just going to drive. By the way? I still don't like you very much." He ate it up. We shook hands, and I passed. But it did take a village to get me to that point. May I introduce Laura Rudy?

I have to teach Brenda?

This was the girl they assigned to teach me. I have to say, she was Total Great. I sang her praises to the highest of high, namely Will, the man in charge of transportation.

Except I struggled with my turns and backing up and was getting myself into a real tizzy fit. I mean really. But this is how great Laura is. She let me train a couple of times under Dennis--who taught me how to turn (LEFT: bring your shoulder to the white line of the road you're turning onto; RIGHT: bring your bumper to the white line) and a 5-hour afternoon session with Blake, my son, who got me hooked on Skagway in the first place. I could not not not not not back up, angle 45 degrees, and then continue backing down an 80-foot corridor between a narrow aisle of cones. Not.

Old Yeller, the bus Laura and I usually drove,
18-foot tail swing.

Blake watched me attempt this a couple of times under Laura and then said, "May I say something?" He then proceeded to press a pretend anxiety button in my head. "No more anxiety, Mum. You did this. You backed up. That's all that's required. You just wiggled your ass into it. See?" And he shook his hiney all the way down the aisle backward, looking like Elvis in reverse. "So all we're going to do now is tidy you up."

"But--"

He pressed the "button" again. "You've passed, we're just making you pretty now."

"But--"

"Bssst!" He rammed his finger against my temple again. I got the point. And out came the markers and drawings on the windshield and careful measuring of my anxiety and timely jokes. Pretty soon I was backing up like a straight arrow and feeling sorta proud of myself. Yup.

"Okay," says Blake. "On a scale of 1 to 10, Dad being a 1, Roy Carlisle being a 10, how do you feel?"

Laura knew I'd divorced Blake's dad 30 years ago. "Who's Roy?" she asked.

"Her old agent, manuscript guru. So Mum, Dad's the 1--he thinks you're stupid and makes you feel like shit. Roy's the 10: thinks you're smart and hot shit. 1 to 10, where are you?"

"Seven. Let's do it again."

When I finally claimed 10, Blake threw his hat on the floor in a fit of exuberance. "Man, I'm good!" he crowed. "And I'm mad at Will all over again for not hiring me as a trainer!" Ha, ha.

Truth be told, I'm a little mad at Will myself for not hiring Blake to train us newbie drivers.  Blake's good, and not just because I'm his mother and he can do no wrong. It's because he's articulate, knows how to use metaphors, inherited his grandfather's teacher genes, and turns off pretend anxiety buttons whenever he needs to.  Bssst. Bssstt. Bussst!

Though I can't be too mad at Will. He did agree to let Blake help me out. And there've been a couple of times since I've found myself thanking the head hauncho for this favor: 1) as I successfully did the backup for my CDL test, Mr. Nice Guy (not) dinging me for the two very tensy-weensy wiggles I ended up making; 2), when I had to practice backing down Railroad Dock here in Skagway. A mighty fine feeling, backing toward the sea, beep/beep/beep, Blake's instruction in my ears and Anne, a Dock Rep, in my left side mirror, giving me a thumbs up once I landed it. Bam!

On a scale of 1 to 10, where am I? Shit or hot shit? 

Hot shit thanks to the village.

For a reward, Will gave us newbies a little graduation ceremony, "Pomp and Circumstance" playing from his computer. Strike up the band, shake hands, hug, kiss, we''re official! We were all HAPA drivers! I was, after all, going to get to play this summer with the big kids!

Will, Jessica, Laura, Dennis

Dennis, Me, Stanley, Jessica, Laura

Laura, Me -- you can see why I love the girl

Me, Stanley, Jessica

To celebrate, oh, yea, back up a bit. 

Jessica and Stanley lived out of town by a few hours and so they lived with me during the bulk of our training, February through April. To celebrate our collective victory, we decided to have a dinner party and invite Blake, Laura, and Dennis and his wife. Blake bailed, but Laura, Dennis, and Marilyn showed up. It was, as Stanley says, "the best night, ever."

 I made up a quiz, Washington and Alaska trivia. Dennis won. Pretty hot stuff there, Dennis.

Still, no one wanted to go home, so we opted for Clue. Dennis and Marilyn had never heard of the game. You gotta be kidding. Really? Really.

It's Mrs. White in the Conservatory with the Revolver. Right, Dennis?

Dennis (sorry, Dennis) was not hot stuff this time around; we had a merry time at his expense. In the end, though, it was Stanley who threw the game, blurting out Who, What, and Where before Laura could make her official accusation.

No, we're not reading Mountie books, we're hiding
our Clue notes.

And so it was, a village. A village that got us up and running. How sad to part ways--Dennis and Marilyn to Fairbanks, Jessica to Ketchican, Laura to Juneau, me, Stanley, and Blake to Skagway (Blake not until June 20). We were sad, yes, but simultaneously excited to embrace the new adventure before us. If you don't get that I'm stoked, let me tell ya, I'm stoked.

Mr. Nice Guy? Turns out he called one of the bosses to tell them how "impressed" he was with me. Said I was well prepared, knew my stuff (see? he did know I'd misunderstood his question! B--!) and that I was, get this, cute and sweet. Sweet?

I should get livid more often, I'm thinking. You think?