My primary mode of transportation is my 1994 Saturn. I generally refer to my car as "my plastic piece of heaven." My sisters are embarrassed of my car. I have no idea why. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that it is teal.
My car has many dents and dings from running into various things. A piece of my hubcap has broken off as a result of my habit of running over curbs. My friends do like to drive with me for fear of their safety. I, however, contend that I am the best driver in the world.
I am willing to admit my one fault when it comes to driving. I have the need for speed, so to speak. Recently, I ran into a little speed trap in Starke, Fla. on my way back to UF. The police officer was not very sympathetic when I started to cry. He gave me the ticket anyway. I did not burst into tears as a tactic to coerce the officer into being lenient. My concern involved my father in Jacksonville who I was going to have to tell about the ticket. Lucky for me, he loves me very much.
In order to keep my car, I had to take a driver improvement course. If I completed the course, no points would be attached to my license and my father would continue to pay the insurance. Driving School was scheduled for Sept. 11, 2001. Even though the United States had suffered a horrific attack, driving school proceeded as planned. Driving school can be compared to a self-help group for driving-impaired persons. Needless to say, I felt like I did not belong. I passed the course. I got my certificate. My friends are still scared to drive with me.