Driver/ Driver

From a very young age, it was understood I would probably never get my Driver's License because of my eyesight. When I was five or six, back in the mid 1980s, my Mom used to talk about the city of Boston as some kind of public transit utopia, a place where even a legally blind person could get around town. In hindsight, I think my Mom was only aware Boston had public transit because of that song by The Kingston Trio, (Charlie on the) “MTA” about a guy being lost on the Boston public transit system. It was quite a shock to both of us about nine years later, when a new optometrist was examining my eyes and casually remarked, “You know of course, he can drive.” I wish I'd had a camera to capture the look on my Mother's face. I think she was more afraid than I was overjoyed.

The Doctor explained I'd need to learn to use bioptic telescopic lenses, which sound a lot more futuristic than they actually are. Bioptic telescopic lenses look just like a normal pair of glasses, but they have a small monocular telescope mounted on one eye. This small telescope looks like a jewelers loupe, but instead of being used to look at small details up close, the lens in this telescope helps the viewer see distances. Honestly, these incredibly high-tech, very, very expensive glasses look like I made them in my basement with a a drill, a hot glue gun and a broken pair of binoculars. But they are damn effective. Though the normal glasses lenses, I see the world with my usual eyesight through glasses: 20/ 200. However, through the monocular, I can see much clearer and my vision improves to 20/ 50, though in a narrow field. With two different lenses, I had to learn a whole new way to use my eyes.

Before I could even apply to get my Learner's Permit, I had to train with these bioptics for six months. The first thing I had to do was get used to wearing much heavier glasses with a telescope over part of one eye. Then, I learned to drop my head so I could look through the telescope when I needed to see things in the distance in greater detail, like when I wanted to read a street sign, or see if a light up ahead was green. Additionally, I had to learn to keep my left eye open and observant of traffic while my right eye focused through the monocular telescope so when I looked at distances, I wasn't turning a blind eye to half the road. It gives me a headache just thinking about it. Trying to describe it here, I have absolutely no idea how I learned to use these glasses. I guess a 16 year-old desperate for freedom can cultivate the patience to learn just about anything. Eventually, riding around in the front seat of the car with my Mom, I got the hang of the glasses. I tested with my Doctor and he said I knew how to use them well enough to get my Learner's Permit.

In order to get my Learner's Permit, I first had to prove to the officials from the DMV I could see things well enough to drive. I rode around as a passenger, reading street signs to these people for half an hour until they agreed I could see well enough to maybe have the chance to learn to drive. They gave me my Learner's Permit, which meant I could legally drive with either of my parents, or anyone who was a licensed driver over the age of 18. In Virginia, at that time, I had to have my Learner's Permit for six full months before getting my license. My parents attempted to teach me how to drive with varying degrees of success. Riding with my Mom was panicky and awful, as she would often scream I was too close to parked cars on the right side of the road or that I was veering into oncoming traffic. My Dad, who taught me to drive a manual transmission, was actually really calm and surprisingly laid back about it. He taught me how to accelerate coming out of turns, that if I have time to use my horn, I'm probably not in real danger and emphasized the importance of a clean car. At the risk of steering into gender stereotypes, my Dad was definitely a better driving instructor than my Mom. I also had to take behind the wheel instruction, which I took with a chain-smoking redneck named Scott who had the grossest fingernails I've ever seen and loved to listen to Rush Limbaugh and vehemently agree with the radio as if Rush could hear him. All that to say, not all male drivers are great. When it came time to get my Driver's License, I had to go with two DMV officials on a driving test. They told me I drove too fast, but gave me my License, which when I first got it, had restrictions saying I couldn't drive at night or on the highways. After a year of driving, I could apply to have these restrictions removed.

I bought a car from my Stepmom for $1.50. It was a 1988 Honda Prelude and I think there was over $2.00 in change in the ashtray. It was a black little two-door, stick shift with a sunroof, flip-up headlights and a speedometer that went up to 140. I drove it over to my friends' house and, being the dickhead I am, immediately called my Mom to tell her I'd been in an accident, just to fuck with her. She was not amused, but I didn't care. With a car, I could suddenly go anywhere and do anything. Not only was I free from my parents' tyrannical oppression, but I was free of the constraints of my vision. I could drive to and from school and work, just like every other kid. I had to pay for gas, I had to keep my car clean, I had to pay for repairs. The freedom and responsibility which came with driving were integral to my development as an independent human being.

My driving record was pretty flawless for a while. I got a few speeding tickets and was in a minor scrape backing out of a parking space, but after a year, I applied for an unrestricted license and was legally allowed to drive on highways and at night. Driving became completely normal for me. Many of my friends couldn't drive stick shift, so I taught a bunch of people how to do it. I'm embarrassed to admit I became very skilled at driving after a couple drinks. All in all, of my 10 normally-sighted close friends, I'd say I was a median driver. While I was never responsible for a real accident, I did have several fender benders. Parking and maneuvering a vehicle through tight spaces proved the biggest problems for me. I, at times, have lost a sense perspective on the size of the car and scraped against concrete poles, metal signs or other cars. Speeding was my most common moving violation. When I was at UVA, I racked up a couple of reckless by speed tickets and had to spend a Saturday in Driving School so my insurance rates would go down.

When I got a job in the Northern Virginia suburbs, I drove a Jetta to and from work just like every other suburban sad sack. I had an hourlong daily commute and driving was completely normal, until I got into a fight and my driving glasses were punched off my face. For a few weeks after I ordered new glasses, I had to drive with no bioptics, which was super illegal and dangerous, so of course I thought it was awesome. The new glasses arrived, even better than my first pair, and I kept driving. When I moved to Los Angeles for grad school, in one 23 hour span, I drove from Memphis, Tennessee to Flagstaff, Arizona all by myself.

I had gone to USC to be challenged as a writer, but I hadn't prepared for the challenges I'd be faced with driving in LA. From the moment I got onto the 10 freeway in Arizona, I knew things were different and not just because my nav system immediately crapped out. Every moment I'd ever spent in a car had been practice for the manic insanity of LA driving. The world was brighter, which made me squint, the drivers were far more aggressive and there were twice as many of them. The added stress of traffic, coupled with the added anxieties of grad school in a new place made driving in Los Angeles a kaleidescope nightmare of blurred lights and honked horns. LA offers all the worst aspects of suburban traffic with all the terrible things about the erratic behavior of drivers in cities. The cars I owned in LA became banged up, scraped and damp with sweat stains from my nervous pores.

Different states have different vision requirements for driving with bioptic telescopic lenses. As I learned the hard way, California is stricter than Virginia. In VA, the telescope only needed to improve my eyesight to 2/ 60; but in CA, it has to be improved to 20/ 40. When I applied for my CADL, which, incidentally, I only needed so I could keep my medical marijuana card, I could only read the line on the eye chart for 20/ 50. The State of California said I couldn't get a license there and that I should not drive with my VADL in the state. I was supposed to surrender my VADL, but instead I left the DMV, sold my car and bought a bicycle.

Riding a bicycle around Los Angeles was perfect for me at the time, except I never did get that weed card. The slower pace of the bike made things easier to see and its slim frame was ideal for nimbly knifing through traffic james. I liked getting the exercise and it was a great release for my pent up frustrations. Plus, when I got into fist fights on my bike, I had no expensive driving glasses to break. But, of course, I couldn't go see friends in Orange County, and anywhere I went, I arrived dripping sweat.

When I left LA for Chicago, I didn't have to worry about getting a license. Much like my Mom suspected of Boston, Chicago is a public transit and bicycling utopia, especially relative to Los Angeles or Northern Virginia. Here, it matters little that I don't have a license because my bike or the L can take me just about anywhere. And if not, I'll just get an Uber like a normal yuppie.

Further Reading:  My Life on the H List