Since I’m on the subject of drivers, I figured this was as good a time as any to discuss Mr. DeWitt. He taught drivers’ ed., health, and, I believe, phys. ed. I had him for drivers’ ed. and health.
Mr. DeWitt was deeply bizarre. He was infamous for telling stories about his family. And retelling them. And retelling them. I think I might have stuck an ice pick in my eardrums if I’d had to sit through one more quarter with his stories. If it wasn’t the story about how his daughter got a nose job and now she was just as cute as a button, it was the story about getting shot at for stealing watermelons when he was a teenager. There was also the one about his alcoholic brother, or maybe it was his cousin the speed freak? I suspect he was making most of them up, hoping that adding a personal touch to the cautionary tales would lend them importance. The condom and banana routine that Andy mentioned in comments was an oldie but a goodie. He also brought in life-size anatomical models of male and female genitalia and passed them around. Probably not a bad idea in itself, but lordy, was he ever creepy about it.
Drivers’ ed. was a whole ‘nother kettle of fishes. I was so sick of his stories that I skipped class more often than not. Funnily enough, it didn’t affect my grade. In class, he told the same old stories and spewed the same old one-liners (“If you can’t see my hands, you gotta wonder what I’m doing!” being the most repeated.) On driving days, he was fond of taking us out onto the bypass, waiting until we’d gotten somewhat comfortable with the speed and traffic, then yelling “SHAZAAM!” in our ears. That did not go over very well with me. I pulled off the road and told him that if he ever did that again, I’d walk home, and he’d have to explain why he came back minus one student.
The first day my group actually drove, he took us to a cul-de-sac to practice. My one and only driving lesson at that point had been in an ancient VW squareback that not only was temperamental as all hell, but also had a broken driver’s seat. I had to sit on a couple of phone books, my feet barely touched the pedals, and I had to sit upright, because the back of the seat was permanently reclined. So, when I first tried to drive the drivers’ ed. car, I naturally gave it too much gas and hit the brakes too suddenly. Power brakes? WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS? Mr. DeWitt’s response was that we should drive the car like we were having sex–nice and slow. Now, how the hell is that an appropriate thing to say to a car full of teenage girls?
He was also fond of grabbing the driver’s seat belt, ostensibly to make sure it was correctly adjusted. It was obvious, though, that he was just copping a feel. There is no reason on earth why he would need to put his hands between a girl’s breasts in order to determine whether or not the seat belt was adjusted properly. I’m just sayin’…
The best, though, was when we picked up our waivers. He made each of us come to his office to pick them up, instead handing them out in class. When I picked up mine, he told me all the girls had to give him a hug before he’d give them their waiver. I said, “Okaythenbye!” and turned around and left. No way in hell was I giving Mr. PervyPants a hug. He apparently thought better of it, and followed me down the hall and handed the waiver to me. Hrmph.
So, it’s no wonder I have an ambivalent attitude toward driving. I ended up spending all my drivers’ ed. time trying to think of ways to avoid the teacher, instead of actually learning how to, oh, I dunno, drive.
red paper boat 