During the original two years we lived in New Zealand, we were allowed to drive on our British licences. But when we arrived in Montreal, we were told that we would have to obtain Quebec licences immediately.
So shortly after we arrived, my late husband told me that he had arranged for us to take our tests. There were two other men transferred into the area by the company at the same time, so we all went off to the testing centre together.
Frank and Lise were from Paris, France; Alexandros and Maria were from Cuba, via Bogota and then there were us from New Zealand.
We duly arrived at the testing centre and were separated while we took a very cursory written test. Then we were each called in turn to take our driving test. The man who was to test me arrived and sheepishly herded me out of the door into the car. He then looked at me with hung-over, bloodshot eyes and told me that he had very little sleep and was very tired and I added under my breath, ‘hungover’.
We drove once around the block whereupon he asked me to pull over and promptly fell asleep in the passenger seat. Well, what to do. In a car in a strange land with a strange man asleep. So I turned on the radio to some very quiet music and sat there for about 15 minutes. I then gently woke him and he sheepishly told me to return to the testing centre. On arriving there, he pronounced me safe to drive, took me inside the centre and signed a form whereupon I was the proud owner of a Quebec licence.
When I told the other members of the party – well out of earshot of anyone in the testing centre – about my tester they thought it a great laugh and very unfair. They had all been put through the hoops to prove that they were competent drivers while I sailed through.
My late husband always said I was born under a lucky star and I guess in this instance he was correct.
“No day is so bad it can’t be fixed by taking a nap.”
- The Driving Test (growingyoungereachday.wordpress.com)