Kilian Doyle writes a fictitional account of a rules of the road examination.
- Mr Roy Bacer? - Yeah, that's me. Alrigh' luv?
(Blank stare.) - The first part of your driving test is a short verbal test. I'm going to show you some road signs and ask you to identify them. Than I'll ask you a few questions on the rules of the road. Do you understand? - Yeah, no worries, do your worst.
(That stare again. Produces plastic laminated sheet.) - Mr Bacer, could you tell me what this means, please?
(Our subject stares blankly at the symbol - a yellow diamond denoting a slippery surface.) - Err, does that mean there's a pub ahead? Nah, only messin' wit' ye, missus. Means don't be pullin' handbrakers round here, don't it?
- I'm afraid not Mr Bacer. No matter. Try this one. (She points to a red circle on a white background.)
(Mutters to himself. If it had been a few degrees colder in the room, you could have seen the steam coming out of his ears. It's one of them speed limit yokes - but there's no number - she's trying to pull a trick question on me. Got it. No flies on me. The snotty boot'll have to try harder than that.) - It means there's no speed limit, right? It means, like, ye can rip as fast as ye want. Don't s'pose ye'd like to tell me where that is? I know a few lads who'd be right into finding that road, yeknowharrimean? Not me of course
- Hmm. And this one?
- Jaysus. That looks like Anto when he zoomed that jacked Clio off the pier in Courtown last week. Does it mean no dumping yer robbed cars?
(Clearly astounded, our tester puts her sheet aside.) - Mr Bracer, I'll now proceed with a few questions on the rules of the road.
- No bother. Shoot.
- Where should you not park?
- Well, leaving your jammer down by the flats near my gaff probably wouldn't be the sharpest, yeknowharrimean? Them feckers'd have the alloys off it quicker than you can say Beyonce's beautiful big backside.
- Sorry, Mr Bacer, I think you must have misunderstood me. What I mean is which part of the road should you not park on?
- Ah, right, gotcha. Wherever there's them clamper blokes cruising around. Them tings are a pain to get off.
- And where can you park?
- Jaysus, as long as them lads aren't around, wherever ye like. Just stick on the hazards, and ye'll be grand like. (Winks theatrically at the tester.)
- Mr Bacer, can you tell me when you can overtake on the left?
- When some tool is only doing 70 in the fast lane. Shouldn't be allowed on the motorways, them lads. Bleedin' dangerous, so they are.
- And what is the safe distance to drive from a car in front of you?
- 'Bout three feet. Any closer and he'll think you're trying to get into his back seat. And ye wouldn't want that, would ye missus? (Again with the conspiratorial wink.)
- I assure you, Mr Bacer, I have no idea what you're implying. Anyway, we'll press on. Finally, what should you do if dazed by the lights of an oncoming car?
- That's easy - flash the bastard.
- Well, I think that concludes the verbal part of your test, Mr Bracer.
- Deadly. Are we off for a burn now?
- No, Mr Bacer. No, no, I really don't think that will be necessary today (Gathers her papers to her shaking breast, and runs off, terrified. She'll never drive again. Her poor Clio. She loved that car.)
- Here, missus, what's the bleedin' story? Did I pass or wha'? Ye bleedin' snotty wagon, ye