`Sitting in this boring class. Immigrant teacher I can’t understand.”
The sullen guy sitting next to me was scribbling on a Holiday Inn notepad, unaware of the spy beside him. He stared for a while more, then jotted, “Thinking of you.”
Ah, traffic school, and a young Romeo’s fancy had turned to love.
No wonder. Love is so much more entertaining on a spring afternoon than considering whether it’s proper to pump ABS brakes (no). Or whether it’s necessary to wear seat belts even if your car has an airbag (yes). Love is certainly less boring than being told that in the four hours you were in this course, 20 people in the United States would be killed in motor vehicle crashes and another 1,040 injured.
But love, alas, was not in the curriculum for the sinners corralled in a Holiday Inn conference room the other afternoon for one of Chicago’s great equalizing experiences, traffic school.
My fellow culprits were white, black, brown, had names or accents that were Hispanic, Pakistani, Chinese, Greek, Chicago’s deep South Side. There was a pony-tailed man in a Harley-Davidson T-shirt, a clean-cut guy in a Merrill Lynch handball tournament T-shirt, a couple of women in trim black suits, an elderly woman in a red beret, a tall young woman in platform shoes and hair so blond it could blind you.
All of us different, but alike in one way: Guilty as ticketed.
I glanced around the room, imagining the awful moment each of these 30 or so innocent faces had become criminal: the flashing lights, the shot of panic, the world’s most common lie, “Honest, officer, I didn’t realize I was speeding/the light was red/that other car was there.”
“There was construction on the Skyway,” confided a woman near me, “and I didn’t realize the speed was reduced from 55 to 45.” She paused. “Of course, I was doing 70.”
Our Polish-born instructor wore a no-nonsense blond ponytail and was remarkably energetic given that she spends her days–in perfectly understandable English–saying things like, “The most fatal type of traffic crash is a head-on collision.”
“How many of you don’t wear seat belts?” she asked.
A few sinners raised their hands, including Romeo, who yawned. She clicked on the class video.
A radiant Princess Di filled the screen. Then headlines about the Paris crash that killed her. And simulations showing that if she’d worn her seat belt, she wouldn’t have been tossed forward and her organs crushed.
The princess, noted the video, had a large staff to keep her safe and yet she neglected the essential protection of a safety belt.
Romeo was paying attention.
As the afternoon wore on, we learned that studies have shown that a 15-minute nap enables a sleepy driver to resume driving safely. And that driving 10 miles at 60 m.p.h. instead of 50 m.p.h. saves you two minutes–and doubles your risk of death.
We also learned that 90 percent of car accidents in the U.S. are caused by driver behavior–which obviously means some other driver’s behavior.
“Half these jerks on the road got their licenses from a Crackerjack box,” a fellow criminal muttered during a break.
On any given day, I, like most drivers, would agree. But here’s another lesson learned in traffic school: When drivers are asked to compare their driving skills to the driving of others, a big majority say their skills and attitudes are better than average. We can’t all be better than average, right?
One of the great hazards of the road is the common belief that it’s always the other guy who’s the bozo. It’s the other guy who cuts people off, tailgates, blocks traffic, talks on the cell phone, applies mascara, honks pointlessly, runs the red.
Tomorrow I’ll believe that again, but traffic school forced us to at least briefly acknowledge our own bad habits and nasty attitudes. Even Romeo, I noted with admiration, honestly gave himself poor marks on the “personal aggressiveness” survey.
“Will you wear your seatbelt?” the teacher asked him as class ended.
Shrug. “I’ll try.”
“You’ll try or you will?”
“I will.”
Good. Because dying in a car crash is, like, totally boring.
