This week I experienced my most terrifying and nerve destroying test in Japan – my Japanese drivers license. I was scared and terrified going in, what with the masses of personal experience stories from previous JETs swirling about in my head like a typhoon.
“I failed 7 times and it took all my leave.”
“I failed because I forgot to check my mirror once.”
“I was perfect. They failed me cause I smiled.”
Like most driving tests it doesn’t test your ability to drive, it tests your ability to pass a test. So those of us unfortunate foreigners that have to take the test instead of just get our license translated, are subjected to sometimes days of stress, panic and, of course, the ritual humiliation of the traffic department.
Firstly, I should have done this when I arrived instead of waiting. That way I could have planned my nenkyu. My biggest fear of all this was not having to pay ridiculous amounts of money to do the test, or driving 2 hours to Oita, it was the slow annihilation of my leave. I could see my holiday back to SA getting shorter and shorter. Anywho, it came to the point where I could avoid it no longer.
My poor supervisor spent ages on the phone making reservations, organising translations and setting up my test date. I would have to go to the centre and complete an interview, eye test, short written test and finally the driving part. I had hoped to go for some lessons before hand so as to get to know the course, which I already had memorised. This idea came to a grinding, clutch burning stop when the price tag turned out to be ¥30 000 – or R2800. I chose rather to fail 7 times than pay that amount to be told when to yoshi.
Once I had my test date it was time to study. I Hermione-d the test. I can still recite the whole thing in my head. This of course would be half the battle – if you were in the middle of a food fight. The driving part of the test takes place on a closed circuit. So it in no way simulates the real world, which affirms my belief you are passing a test not proving you can drive.
The horrific day finally arrived. I drove to Oita and got there in time to walk the course. This gave me some confidence. The crank (two scary 90 degree turns) looked intimidating but otherwise I was feeling good.
Interview time.
I ended up being interviewed by the nicest guy, who taught me some secrets of the South African driving license and confirmed that it was in fact legal. He scrutinised every single stamp in my passport to make sure that I had been in South Africa 3 months after obtaining my license.
I passed everything; I am a stressor so I eve panicked about the written test. I only needed to get 7 out of 10 to pass, but who wants to fail that. I could have passed using common sense but I was glad to have my copy of the Japanese road rules – even if it was just to see the interesting diagrams and guides to the impact of driving your car off a 60-story building.
So after the nice man had finished telling me not to be nervous and how good it would feel when I actually passed the test, it was time to wait. And it is the waiting that gets you.
Now the centre is a nice new building – concrete and glass etc – and reminds me of your general international airports with all the same signage, typefaces and people milling about. Only it has none of the exciting holiday feeling and all the anticipation of a lobotomy with a chainsaw. The worst thing was this warning buzzer that randomly went off. I swear it was stolen from Jurassic Park. Every time I heard it I had images of T-Rexs being let loose from their cages. I think it is all part of the plan to destroy your confidence.
Then I met Kai, a Japanese guy who was doing his test for the 6th time. If you are doing our test then avoid these people! While it was nice to ask him some questions, he proceeded to terrorise me his own personal tragedies and insights into which instructors are nice and which are mean, who else was trying for the 7th time. Eventually he left to do his test and I was alone in the waiting room attempting to regain my composure.
I found half of it. Or at least the shell, which rapidly cracked like a plumber bending over once I got into the car. Now if I had done this test in Eeyore or Buta it would have been okay. Instead they insist you drive these large mafia-esque black taxi things that turn like an oil tanker.
The examiner knew I had not driven the course before and took me around once, showing me what to do. Then it was my turn. It’s much easier in your head. It went reasonably well to be honest – for a first attempt. In the end it was the crank that got me. I was not prepared for that, and as I did in my first driving test ever I hit a pole. Automatic fail.
In the end the examiner said I managed well, despite not having driven the course before. I just needed to do my checks sooner. He did suggest that I take some lessons but when I told them the price, even he agreed it was pricey.
Luckily in order to take the test again I just had to show up at the centre. They keep all the paper work and details for you – our traffic department could take lessons – so no 6-month waiting list. In fact the test more people in the space of 2 hours than the traffic departments manage in a day.
So after admitting defeat I decided the best thing to do was to return the next day and try again while the horror was fresh in my mind.
Day 2 and after donning my lucky ducky undies, I sheepishly showed up at the centre again to be greeted by the nice man who had nothing but sympathy for my plight. After filling in all the necessaries I began the waiting game again and was kept company by Kai and the Chinese couple. Again.
Kai didn’t help my reoccurring nerves by telling me how he did the course perfectly the day before but the examiner failed him anyway. I learned later that he had also argued with the examiner over his test which any decent troll of the interwebs will tell you is worse than crashing the car. Everything I read said to be polite and as gracious and as apologetic as possible for every mistake. Use your “onegaishimasu” and “arigatou.” A strategy, which I maintain, was key to my eventual success – that and, of course, doing the confidence dance.
Unless you are a fan of Cougar Town you will not be acquainted with the confidence dance. It works. Before my test I headed to the empty bathrooms and proceeded to find my courage by doing the confidence dance in front of the mirror. I just changed my mind soundtrack to safety dance for the occasion and I will swear by it in the future.
Although I was empowered by my mirror moves there were still some nerves. No one had passed yet that day and it was looking bleak. Though in retrospect this may have meant they had quotas to fill.
My name was then called by the examiner that Kai had labelled as “mean.” Though by now I was starting to doubt the validity of his advice. My legs shook on the clutch like Lindsey Lohan after 10 minutes without a drink. I am still not sure how I got around the course. All I know is that I got through the crank and only had to reverse once. I didn’t miss any checks and I managed to keep to the left. I honestly am not sure, and don’t quite believe, that I passed.
As I pulled up to park, I was already trying to think of ways to save my precious leave without having my holiday home reduced to a week. It was at this point that the examiner said “congratulations”, shook my hand and some things in Japanese about me please driving safely in future. I did say thank you but I wasn’t too sure I was hearing him right and questioned him repeatedly to make sure. He just smiled and laughed at my incessant thanks and need for affirmation. I also had to hold on to all my Japanese-ness not to hug him. In fact the nice man up stairs even asked if I had, after congratulation me on my success.
Everyone was so nice about me passing, even the lady at the till said congratulations. They were so pleasant that driving home I felt as though I had to make them proud and prove my worth as a good driving citizen, which I will endeavour to do.
After another 90 minute wait I was handed my brand new, shiny license that comes standard with awful photograph of no choice. I was still terrified however that on my way out that they would tell me they made a mistake and take it away. In fact I am still waiting for that call.
Advice for future victims:
1. Be nice. Be polite. Be humble and practice grovelling. Make friends.
2. Know the test. Let it be the last thing you think about at night. Drive it in your head.
3. Be overly cautious – even if the examiner laughs at you for checking under your car from every angle.
4. Wear your lucky undies and do your confidence dance. Never underestimate the power of the force.
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Emma Gernetzky
http://jetsetducky.blogspot.com/
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