don’t cry for me ballymena

Just as there are stages of grief, there are stages of getting a UK driver's license. These include, but are not limited to:

• Frustration

• Humiliation

• Resignation

• The Theory Test

And for the theory test, what we in the States might call the rules of the road exam, I had to go to Ballymena. Here I must apologise to the residents of Ballymena and confess that I find myself somewhat prejudiced against Ballymena, even though I haven't spent any time there. It's a market town known for shopping, ironic since it's also renown for its penny-pinching citizenry.

I try to focus on the good parts bits, like the fact that Nelly takes her mum to the Tesco there and Liam Neeson is from there. But mostly I associate it with that guy your man Ian Paisley. And my co-workers described it for me in driving terms: a nightmare maze. Leave yourself lots of time to get there, they said.

So I set off from work with about 50 minutes allotted for the drive. Even after nearly a year, I forgot that just a few miles can be a very long, and usually very lovely, journey.

So just a couple minutes off the motorway, I was headed over Shane's Hill and was agape at the absolute beauty of the countryside. The sun came out and the colours were extraordinary. The fields were spread out below and yes, there were sheep. I came around a corner and there was a flock of turbines rotating on a hilltop. Suddenly the landscape changed and I was driving along a forest on one side, open country with flowing brooks on the other. I was listening to the radio and my mind was racing. And I wasn't getting to Ballymena on time.

Oh yeah, I got slightly lost. I recovered, but now it was down to the wire. I got lost a second time downtown in the city centre. The only thing clear was the instruction from the test centre: show up late, forfeit your test appointment. I was trying to interpret the map and my own scrawled notes as I sat at a stoplight. Finally, I abandoned all decorum. I rolled down the window and shouted at passersby. "Hiya. HIYA. HIYA ... I'm looking for Tower Centre, can you help me?"

Two Ulstermen responded to my panicked pleas. They were brothers at the very least, identical twins most likely. Their faces were absolutely raw from weather and their voices were rougher. But they were right gems, so they were. They came out into the street to help me, motioned the person behind me to wait as the light turned green. They looked at the test centre paper and pointed me in the right direction, one telling me one thing, the other talking over him to tell me another, the message the same: parking is going to be a challenge.

I drove around the Tower Centre and found an on-street space a few blocks away. I went into the mall and couldn't find the test office. I tried passersby again with no luck. They were pleasant but uninformed. At last a kind security guard took pity on me and pointed me toward the office (located outside the mall ... who knew this theory exam was also a logic test)?

It took a village to get me to the theory exam.

I made it with seconds to spare. So three 17-year-old boys and I sat in the reception area, under the watchful eyes of CCTV. For our own security, our entire testing experience was being audio- and video-recorded, so stated a printed A4 piece of paper taped to the wall.

I hope they did audio- and video-record my theory test triumph. Duly minted, I went back through the mall, thanked my security guard friend, and returned to the street where my car was. It was parked right outside a Subway, so I nipped in for lunch. The friendly woman who made my sandwich congratulated me on Obama. So sweet.

I got lost on the way out of town, but I did not care. All the best to you, Ballymena. 
 

Comments

[Alan in Belfast]

Congratulations, hey! (As they might say in Ballymena.)

I'm glad you're being able to employ the wisdom of crowds (well, villages).

Next stop, driving test!