The first time I rode shotgun in New Zealand, I was terrified.
But you already know this.
I tried to explain to Keith how scary it was on my side. Thisclose to the mailboxes whizzing past. Thisclose to the concrete barrier on the motorway. Thisclose to being paralyzed for life and eating the rest of my meals through a straw.
He said I’d get used to it.
Riding shotgun that is, not eating through a straw.
I kept pleading with him to drive closer to the center of the lane. He assured me he was in the center of the lane; that it just looked off from my side.
So, I got used to it.
Fast-forward three months. The time is now. Keith is talking to me over the phone while driving home from work.
Keith: Oh, ah, I’m getting pulled over.
Eby: What?! …because you’re on the phone!
Keith: Nah, I’ve got you on speaker. I’ll call you back in a sec.
For three minutes, Eby is plagued by horrible images of being deported
Keith: Ok, you’re going to think this is funny. I got pulled over for driving too close to the barrier on the motorway. The cop thought I was driving drunk.
Silence
Keith: He made me take a breathalyzer test. I just explained I was new to the country and am trying to get used to driving on the opposite side of the road, from the opposite side of the car.
Eby: Really? Did he say anything else?
Keith: He just, laughed at me. He laughed and told me to have a good night.
Needless to say, I felt more than justified. And Keith was right, it was funny. I can’t help but imagine the cop walking back to his car, shaking his head. Upon getting into his patrol car, his partner would then ask him what the story was.
“Ah, just another immigrant trying to drive. You know how that goes.” (I’ll let you add the Kiwi accent)
And then they would both chuckle together and pull onto the motorway, and flash their lights and honk a bit while passing an unsuspecting Keith, back on the speaker phone with his wife; the immigrant who hardly drives at all.
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