suddenly braked and started reversing back to the lift
where the lady was still standing and waving.
He had forgotten to ask for directions. He sat back in his
seat mumbling about "turn right at the light, then take a U
turn and head back east on the thru way. At exit 443 take a
right and follow signs to the...or was it turn right then left
and then take a U turn?" My mum was already furious with
my dad for agreeing to the idea of the car. Tight lipped, in
her "this is so annoying" voice she asked my dad if he was
sure of where he was going. Obviously no man likes to
admit he's not sure so in his very false voice he assured
my mum that he was positive about where we were going
and that the lady had told him its only a "20 minute drive"
and "not to worry".
The lady couldn't have been more wrong. She obviously
misjudged my dad and may have over-estimated him when
she saw his international driving license.
"Wroom, Wrooom", the vehicle, startedas though we were
about to begin a race. It was warmed up and all set to
embark on the race against time. Our course was unknown
and we had one of the slowest drivers of all time.
Taking it at 5Km an hour, we took 20 minutes alone to get
out of the three-storey parking lot. How long was it going
to take us to get to the hotel?
When we eventually got on the road, my younger brother
said he needed the toilet. As usual my mum taking charge
asked my brother to wait 20 minutes while we got to the
hotel, while giving my dad a very wary look. I think,
having a mothers instinct she knew that stopping anywhere
would just prolong this dreaded journey and we would all
end up traipsing to bathroom and making an even bigger
mess of ourselves.
Luckily, my dad made a good guess and we turned on to
the right road. It was usually my brother managed to get
us to our planned destination, because my dad’s sense of
direction is as good as any bird that flies into a window.
Tired of directing my dad during previous escapades like
this, my brother had flat out refused to do any sort of map
reading.
After much driving on a straight, dimly lit road there was
finally a lonesome turning to the right, which my dad
decided to take. Obviously, our good luck had to run out at
some point, and this was the time. We were on a nameless
bridge which we later found out was the Brooklyn Bridge.
It was now when my mother began panicking. We had
been driving for 25 minutes already and there was still no
sign of getting to Manhattan Island. While my mum was
muttering to herself about how we wouldn't make it to the
hotel in time and that they would cancel our booking, my
dad just said that being on the bridge gave us a view of
the beautiful city of New York at night. All we had left now
was to "follow the signs and arrows." The average person
might ask, how difficult could it be to follow signs?
Obviously, this hadn’t had the experience of a lifetime: A
car journey with my dad.
So, driving along the Brooklyn Bridge, my brothers and I
were taking my dads advice and were enjoying the view,
when we made a very unexpected stop. We had just come
to a tollbooth. Now, having arrived a mere hour ago we
hadn't had the chance to acquire any spare change, so my
dad had to reach into his secret money belt which was
tucked under his shirt, and he pulled out 50 dollars. The
man taking our money gave my dad a very shocked look as
he gave back 48 dollars and 50 cents.
Luckily, my dad had thought that it was a good idea to ask
the man how to get to Manhattan Island. He told us to take
the second exit on the left and then follow the signs. We
did just that. Or we thought we did.
I think it was because we weren’t accustomed to the
American accent; either that or the guy was trying to lead
us into Harlem on purpose. Harlem is supposedly the most
dangerous neighborhood in New York. At hearing the news,
my mum became really hysterical; she kept yelling useless
opinions like: "I told you not to get the car! Now were all
going to get shot! Why do you have to put all our lives at
stake?" My dad just raised his eyebrows and carried on
driving. My brother was complaining that he was really
desperate for the bathroom, and that just got my mum
started again with things like: "Look at what you've done!
We can't even stop any where because we're in HARLEM
and his bladders going to burst, and....and...." At this point
I just blocked my mum out.
Before we knew it, thanks to the well-lit signboard pointing
us out of Harlem we were back on the Brooklyn Bridge.
My mum calmed down, but only very slightly. Anything
was appreciated at this time, because it was nearly 11.30
and my brothers and I were dying with tiredness.
My dad just kept driving. He was wide-awake. How? I don’t
know, but I had a fealing it may have had something to do
with the 3 cups of coffee he had on the plane.
Shockingly, we ended up at another tollbooth and asked
directions. Again. After about 10 minutes of nodding,
pointing and looking at the map, we were finally on our
way.
It was like Christmas come early when we reached a turn
off. We were finally getting of the bridge! Suddenly, all our
sleepiness left us. We were back to a wide-awake state and
were all excited to finally be going somewhere.
What seemed like 10 minutes later, we were getting out of
the dreaded people carrier and were walking in to the
hotel.
The first thing my brother did was make a beeline for the
bathroom.
It seems amazing, that how ever many bad experiences we
have with driving cars in foreign, and sometimes in not so
foreign countries my dad never gives up.
Amirah Kassim
