"No Offense"

I know, I know. It's been too long. You may ask, Libby, what have you been doing with your summer that has kept you too busy to write anything? I've had a very tight schedule of sleeping and eating any sugary food stuffs I can find in my parents' pantry. (Side note: if you eat an entire tube of green frosting, your poop will be green for about a week.)

My sister Allie turns 15 in a little less than a month. She's going to a Girl Scout Horse riding camp tomorrow, and was telling us about how at camp, she has to go by her "camp name," Goldfish. So when my mom writes her a letter, she must address it to Goldfish Moehrle. All the girls have to go by these nicknames, which I thought was pretty weird, but hey, that's Girl Scouts. She said one of the girls in her troop was given the nickname "Sarge." No I do not know why. I thought to myself, what a most unfortunate nickname for a 15 year old girl.

When I hear "Sarge," I think of one of the driving instructors I had for Drivers Ed. back in the day when I was 15. There were three instructors. One, a woman, was in charge of teaching the book stuff. Red means stop, green means go, a "rolling stop" is not a real thing and will result in a ticket, that kind of stuff. The other two instructors were in charge of the physical stuff, utilizing one practice car provided by the Ladue School District, fully equipped with a "STUDENT DRIVER" sticker and a brake on the passenger side. One of these instructors was a coach from another school district, a man we'll call "Coach Assbag," and the other was Sarge, who was biologically female (I think), but without a doubt had more testosterone than Coach Assbag and The Hulk combined. She was a very no-nonsense kind of lady. She actually told us she preferred to be called Sarge. So that's what we called her. And on my very first day ever behind the wheel of a car, she was the one in the passengers seat, barking out "LEFT!.... RIGHT!... EASY!" as I coasted at a cool 5mph around my high school's parking lot. After 15 minutes, my turn was up, and she rewarded me with a nod and a "Good."

The two other girls in my assigned group, Hannah & Jessica, had driven more than me (which is to say they had actually driven.) (And yes, I'm going to use their actual names, because I know when they retell this story, they use my full name, and fair is fair.) Because of this, they were allowed to leave the parking lot and drive on actual roads. I was okay not driving on real roads, because quite frankly, I was petrified of the whole experience. The death trap in which I was riding around, the man-lady barking at me, everything.

Day 2, Coach Assbag was in the passengers seat. This was his first time teaching drivers ed. He wasn't a seasoned veteran like Sarge, who had done it for years. Being new to the game, he had a very optimistic, bordering on idiotic approach to instructing 15 year old drivers. He let the other girls drive on the highway, all around West County (which isn't really all that far, but when you're a new driver sitting in the back seat, knowing that your turn is soon, it seems like a big deal). My turn came around, and we were parked in a neighborhood. "Ready to get on the roads?" he asked me with a big grin. Suddenly feeling myself fill with determination, I got behind the wheel.

"Alrighty Miss Lib, Take a left up here! Remember to use your blinker!"
I get to the end of the street, and turn on the wipers.
"Woops! Haha! Try it again!"
I finally get the wipers off, and get the left blinker going. I turn right.
"Oh, okayyy... that's okay! Just turn right in here and we'll go around through neighborhood again!"
I turn right, follow the curved street through the neighborhood, and get back to where I started. 
"Okay, now turn LEFT!" he says, sounding out "left" as if I'm retarded.
I successfully turn the left blinker on, and execute an exceptional left turn out of the neighborhood. 
"Very good! Now, take this next right."
I take a right, I turn the wheel too much and skid off onto the shoulder. Assbag grabs for the wheel.
"Who-ha-hoooaaa!! Careful now! Don't want to over-do it! Let's try another right up here."


At this point, my confidence is completely shattered. I'm mortified because Hannah and Jessica are snickering in the back seat, and I've never been more scared in my entire life. It becomes very clear to me that I'm a terrible driver, and that I'm going to kill everyone in the car, and it'll be Assbag's fault for letting me drive on the roads on my second day. Still, I accelerated forward.

I approach the right turn.
I turn the wheel to the right.
I keep turning the wheel to the right.
The car rolls off the the pavement and into a deep trench on the side of the road. 
I feel Coach Assbag slam on his brake, to no avail.
The car is now almost on its side at a 45 degree angle.
Hannah and Jessica are screaming.
Coach Assbag is yelling "THE BRAKE!! THE BRAKE!! IS YOUR FOOT ON THE BRAKE??!!"
The fear of dying has rendered me paralyzed, and my foot is firmly pushing the accelerator to the floor.


So, Coach Assbag kept asking if my foot is on the brake, and I kept answering "yes" not knowing what was happening. He would momentarily let his foot off his brake and the car would lunge forward, because my foot remained pressed on the accelerator. He was still trying to talk me through it, but I was beyond that point. Words would not help me. We went through the lunging forward and abruptly braking thing a couple more times before he finally told me to let go of the wheel. He drove the car, from the passengers seat, out of the trench and into a nearby parking lot. He got out of the car and started laughing hysterically. Not in the good way. Not like how you laugh when watching Anchorman. Literally hysterical. He just kept saying, "Ohhh man I'm getting my pink slip today! This is it! This is it for me."Apparently, I'd totaled the car.

My bad.

After he'd calmed down, he offered to drive back to school so I didn't have to (finally, a wise decision).  I sat in the passengers seat, silent. I had never been more embarrassed and scared in all of my 15 years. It was quiet for a while, and then from the back, one by one the girls piped up with "No Offense" comments.

I hate "No Offense." It's just about the most selfish phrase ever. Much like "Bless Her Heart," "No Offense" is used when the speaker is about to say something, well, offensive, but doesn't want to come across as rude. Unlike its southern cousin, "No Offense" says the mean comment directly to the person's face, instead of behind her back. For example, "No offense, Darlene, but Eddy probably only wants to take you to prom because he knows how easy you are." Or "No offense Sally, but ever since you've gone to college, you have just let yourself go." The idea is, if you preface the rude statement with "No Offense," you the speaker won't feel like a bad person, because in saying "No Offense," you've secured that the person you're speaking to should not take offense to whatever heinous things you want to say. However that person always does. Always.

"No offense, Libby, but I'm really glad I'm not the worst driver."
"No offense, but I was really worried you were gonna hit that telephone pole."
"Yeah, I definitely hit my head on the window. I might have a concussion because of you. No offense."
"No offense, but I'm never getting in a car with you ever again."

We got back to the high school, and it was immediately decided that no other groups could go out and drive that day, because "Miss Genz totaled the car." So for the remainder of the time we would watch graphic videos from the 1980's detailing the results of drunk driving, not wearing a seatbelt, and the risks that come with road rage. It was a great feeling.

Day 3, Sarge pulled me aside. She pointed a thumb toward Coach Assbag. "He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. From now on, you're with me." It was odd how un-intimidating she was being, but I appreciated it. She didn't talk to me like I was a baby. She didn't make fun of me for being a bad driver. She didn't make me do things I wasn't ready for. She just did what she had to do: teach me drive safely enough to pass the test. And sure, I spent days 3-5 coasting around parking lots, but by the next week, I was driving on a highway.
 
6 years later, I have a license, I passed the test the first time (barely), I'm still a terrible driver, and that story is something I can laugh about forever. Someday I can tell that story to my 15 year old, and he/she can say "Wow, mom, you really are a born loser, aren't you?"And me and my beautifully hunky husband will nod in agreement. It's a wonderful vision.

Oh, and to those girlies who sat in the back seat and snickered at me: y'all are some damn bitches. No offense.