And so

Finally I have moved back onto unhallowed ground. No longer am I shackled by the chains of a federally owned internet connection, burdened by its inhumane prohibitions: no gambling, no porn, no arranging to meet prostitutes on craigslist - even if you don't kill them - and no supporting religious or political groups.

I now live in New York state. It seems that a lot of you have the impression that this is near New York city. It is true that some of it is very near, or indeed in, the city. The vast majority is over an hour's drive away. And rife with turkeys and deer, both driven insane by people who say 'kawphee'.

I have a pleasant apartment on the edge of suburbia, before the farms proper start, but the turkeys already sense the lessening of man's grip and wander about with gay abandon. Sometimes they sit in the tree opposite my door, watching and softly gobbling amongst themselves.

Because there are no public transport links to my place of work, the first step to escaping was to obtain a driver's licence. Tricky when one needs to visit a DMV office to do this and there is no public transport. I found a friend, or at least someone gullible enough to drive me, and cleared some time in my diary for a serious waste of time.

It was therefore a pleasant surprise to find that the queue moved swiftly at the local DMV and in less than half an hour from my arrival I was looking forward to my third driving knowledge test in America. You may remember that I passed the first two (on account of being awake and literate, in order of importance), but that was in a different state, so not only didn't it matter but in fact some of my previous correct answers would now be wrong. State's rights are firmly in support of not letting big government do anything so oppressive as to impose a uniform driving code across the country. I had prepared myself by unlearning what I thought was right, including some pieces of obvious common sense. The exam room was just off the main room and we were called in one at a time to maximise disruption to those already sitting tests. I was given a piece of paper with multiple choice questions on it and another sheet with boxes in which to mark the answer. I tried to be cautious, but after five minutes and having triple checked the answers I could stand the boredom no longer and turned in my script. I then waited on a solid wood bench reminiscent of Victorian schooling while the ladies behind the counter figured out that two of us had finished already. This took a while. In the meantime a gangly teenager with acne came in with his parents, who presumably thought he might be kidnapped or raped if he entered the examination room alone. Clearly he had prepared well because the first part of the exam was a vision test and he had left his glasses at home. He seemed confused when he was told that he couldn't take the exam and would have to leave. I started asking myself, 'am I really going to share the road with these people?'
Then the other examiner called out "Who took the motorcycle test?" A young man with a buzzcut stood up eagerly and moved to the counter. Loudly and humiliatingly he was told, "I'm going to need you to write answers in the boxes". My train of thought gained momentum. Moments later I was presented with a temporary learner's permit.

The next stage was something called a '5 hour prelicensing course'. This involved another favour from a friend, because such courses are only given at a few places, usually nowhere near public transport, and you can't drive on your own on a learner's permit. I soon discovered this hadn't stopped most of the people attending the class from doing just that in order to get there.

The class consisted of two teenagers; a woman a bit younger than me; a woman a bit older than me three men, one sane, one not and one indeterminate because he kept falling asleep; oh and me. The teenagers were there because they had never had a license before, nor had the young woman. The remainder, myself excluded, had all lost their licences, by which I mean the legal euphemism for had them confiscated, rather than just dropped them down the back of a sofa. In some cases it wasn't clear why, in others it was blindingly obvious: "How many DUI's do you have?" the older woman had asked the man next to her when she arrived. She had two it turned out. One of them bad enough to have destroyed her car and led to her waking up in a cell. She also mentioned her previous heroin problem to provide extra colour. She was one of the people who had driven herself to the class even though she only had a learner's permit. Who were these people I was going to share the road with?

The class was better than I expected, mainly because the people were fascinating and the teacher had many interesting stories of his own to share. My favourite was about the man he once had at the back of the class who spent the first half hour flipping him the bird. When prompted as to why, the man explained that as a New Yorker, he knew how to drive and didn't need to be patronized. What injustice had led to him losing his licence? Well he had once purposefully run someone off the road for cutting him up. And when that person had pulled up behind him later at a gas station, he had grabbed his trusty lead pipe from the footwell to explain how things were going to be. It was desperately unfortunate for him that the other driver had held up a gun and his New Jersey State trooper badge. Just another great person to share the road with.

At some point we were told about car safety and the damage accidents can do. I think Miss DUI said something about a visit to hospital. In a game of oneupmanship, the large bearded man behind me mumbled something about hitting a tree, a collapsed lung and losing an eye. That explained the glassy stare. He had also driven to the class illegally.

Part of the class was taken up by watching videos, one was about Princess Diana. Knowing that I was British, the instructor asked me, "What do we know about how Princess Diana died?" As I opened my mouth to answer, the bearded madman behind me spat, "We'll NEVER know what really happened to her". I stared at the instructor for a while. I was thinking of maybe finding a way to hike to work, or live at the lab forever.

Eventually the class ended, and the instructor himself was good enough to drive me back to my cell at the lab, because he lived nearby. On the way he told me a story about someone throwing acid at a car. Really was it worth leaving the lab at all?

Then the long wait for a road test began. Still it was an American driving test, so nothing to worry about. The internet suggested it was easy compared to the UK test (just point the car in the right direction and avoid other vehicles). I asked around to find previous recipients of the prestigious New York state driver's licence. Apparently a postdoc before me had taken it five times before he passed. Oh well, it happens with some people. And he'd moved away, so I wouldn't have to worry about him driving around. I found a graduate student. He took the test five times as well. Shit.

I passed, first time thank you for asking. After some necessary but unpleasant time with a used car salesman I bought a car and moved away from the lab. Now we have come full circle, back to the beginning of the post. I am told by the people at the apartment offices that the other tenants in my block are really nice. I met one the other day as I was walking out my door. "Harrrllllo" she gargled at me from over her walking frame as I smiled and greeted her. "Could you tell me where the laundry is?" I suggested, hoping to profit from the experience. Looking above me and slightly to the left, she began humming as she shuffled off. I think I'll ask the turkeys next time.