There’s a story in the news today about the growing problem of imposters sitting practical driving tests. Apparently, it’s possible to hire a look-alike to sit the test for you for just £500.

You can read the article here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/6231892.stm

When I came to England, I found the driving test very difficult to pass. I ended up taking it seven times over two years (and I had been driving for over ten years in the States). Each time I failed, the examiner would tell me how very close I was, “but sorry, you didn’t pass.” When I did pass the test, I got a license that doesn’t expire until I’m 70. No more tests. Even if we have flying cars in the year 2042, I won’t mind because my license will still be valid. Even in the States, you have to renew with a written exam every five years or so, but not here.

Now that I spend a lot of time riding around on a motorcycle, I see how drivers rarely look when they change lanes or signal when they enter roundabouts. They’ve established bad habits since they earned their license 20 or 30 or 50 years ago. It’s dangerous.

But, when road accident levels get too high, everyone jumps to the same conclusion—our tests are not difficult enough. They increase the difficulty. When I took the test in my late twenties, everyone said to me “I passed when I was 17, but it wasn’t so difficult then. I could never pass today.” Between the time I took my theory test for cars 6 years ago and the time I took the theory test for motorcycles two months ago, the DSA had attached an additional requirement—The Hazard Safety test. If you have a license already, you don’t have to take this test.

The roads are getting too dangerous so we take it out on 17 year-old kids who’ve never driven before by making sure they take their driving test over and over again. A 65 year-old man who took his test in the early 60′s if far more dangerous, I think. He’s the guy I worry about when riding my motorcycle.

No wonder people hire imposters to take their tests. I wish I knew about this scheme a few years ago.

There is a small retail park on the outskirts of Abingdon which has a Homebase, Argos, and a few other shops. A few weeks ago, while buying some things in Homebase to fix up the house, I found myself in a situation I always find myself in.

I had a trolley full of items, and one of my kids had to go to the bathroom?RIGHT NOW! We rush through the aisles to one of the tills?my boy dancing around behind me — and I ask the kids behind the counter if we can use the toilet. We get the typical response?”We don’t have toilets here, I’m afraid.”

“Where can we find the nearest toilet?” I ask?trying to convey my sense of urgency.

“There aren’t any in any of the other shops in this shopping centre. You have to cross the road and go over to Tesco”, he says. In other words, I have to abandon the trolley I’ve collected, rush the kids across the Homebase car park, cross a busy road with two traffic lights, cross the vast Tesco car park, and then try to find their toilet. And then, they assume I’ll return to Homebase to finish my shopping.

I can’t understand how a huge chain would spend so much money on purchasing products, setting up store space, and hiring staff and then keep me from making purchases because they don’t have a toilet.

But, or course they have a toilet. None of the kids working at Homebase are working with full bladders. They have a toilet, I just can’t use it.

And why? Why can’t I, as a lowly customer, use their toilet? Because someone somewhere fears I will piss on the seat!

Even if I did make a mess in their toilet and not clean it up (which I wouldn’t!), even if I urinated like I was doing it through a shower head, it would still make sense to hire someone to clean toilets once in a while than to lose business because they send everyone to Tesco. I’ve had jobs where cleaning toilets was occasionally called for. Everyone has to do it sometimes.

I would rant more about this, but I’ve got to go to the bathroom.

Yesterday, I had a very strange incident on one of the First Great Western slamdoor trains from Paddington.

Last night, when my train arrived in Didcot Parkway, I stood up, grabbed my overcoat from the overhead storage and left the train. Same routine every day.

As I was walking off the platform, I put my coat on and realised that my keys weren’t in the pocket and that the pocket had a hole in it. I put my hand down the hole to feel around the bottom of the coat, but couldn’t find the keys. I checked the other pocket and found that my gloves were also missing. In a split second, I realised I had put on someone else’s coat. The train was still there so I sprinted back to the train. Which coach was it? I took the best guess.

I shoved past several people to get onto the train and ran back to the place I think I was sitting. I was sitting in the middle of the coach. I was terrified the train would leave and I would be on my way to Swindon–”Sorry kids, I won’t be home for a couple of hours. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I tore off the coat I left the train with and threw back into the overhead compartment. When I glanced back at it, my suit jacket was inside the coat so I had to jump up and get my jacket out of it. I could hear the doors slamming. The people sitting below these luggage containers were staring at me too. I could hear music and realised my headphones had come out of my phone and while I was running around, I they could all hear the music from the phone in my pocket. I was listening to David Lee Roth “Just Like Paradise”–how embarrassing. I fumbled my hand in my pocket and turned off the phone.

I pulled down a different overcoat from the overhead bin and turned towards the door, but noticed it wasn’t my coat either, so I threw it back. I checked one more before I found one that clinked like it had keys in it. With my book bag, my suit jacket, and overcoat bundled in my arms, I ran back down the aisle and towards the door.

When I got to the door (shoving past the same people I shoved past on the way in, but this time they stood to the side), the train was not moving–but the door was locked! I pulled down the window and hung my body out to shout to the guard. I waved my arms around and shouted “Stop!” There was no guard on the platform and I was largely ignored. Typical. I was on my way to Swindon.

Still, in a split second I figured we hadn’t really started moving yet and swung my leg out over the window. The train started creeping forward–but I was already committed to this action. I had one leg out the window but the upper half of my body wouldn’t fit out the window with all the stuff on my arms. A guy standing next to the door shouted, “I’ll hold your coat and throw it to you!” Made sense. I brought my leg back into the train and shoved my head out the window first and then brought my leg out. I was mostly out of the train and looking for someplace to put my foot. There was a tiny ledge at the bottom of the door I was able to stand on and get my other leg over. I was still over the platform and jumped. The man threw me my bag and coats from the moving window as I shouted thank you.

As my heart raced and I breathed heavily, I watched the train leave. A few people from the coach I just left were watching me out the window. I was amazed to find I had everything (coat, jacket, bag) and very relieved that the coat I grabbed really was my coat. I put my coats on and looked along the platform expecting some official to have a word with me or give me a fine. Nothing. I made it home in time to see my kids before they went off to bed.

When I first moved to England nine years ago, my mother-in-law told me that being American covered a multitude of sins. I didn’t have to worry about doing or saying stupid things since most English people expect it from me anyway. I tend to embarrass myself on a regular basis. Despite my putting on a suit and heading into the city everyday like a grown up, I tend to put myself into situations where I’m running around like an idiot.

I wonder if I’ll see anyone on this morning’s train who saw me last night. I was too frantic to get a good look at anyone. What they must of thought seeing me jump onto the train, run down the aisle to the tunes of David Lee Roth and throw coats around and take one before running back down the aisle and jumping out the window.

Two more weeks of the contract. Two more weeks of this commute. I think it’s starting to mess with my head.

I realised that I have a tendency to ignore our receptionist. I give a little smile when passing by in the morning, but our office layout requires walking past several times in the day. I don’t want to say hi every time I pass, but I don’t want to look like I ignore her either. I try to carry something with me so I can pretend I’m reading it every time I walk past.

It’s not that I don’t like the receptionist. She is very nice. I hear people visiting the building stopping and flirting and making cute comments about this and that with her. They have a laugh, talk about nothing in particular, and pretend they got something out of the human interaction. I suppose this doesn’t make much sense.

I used to work at a Super 8 motel in rural Missouri for about a year while I was attending university. I was the night clerk. I ran the motel from 11pm to 7am by myself and attended school after work (I didn’t sleep much in those days). During my shift, I’d sit there behind the front desk and watch people walk back and forth to their car to carry their bags into their room. Each time they passed me, they felt they had to say something—“Just getting my suitcases”, “Just a couple more trips”, “Just one more now”. Like I care! They didn’t have to say something EVERY time they passed by. But, I think they felt rude if they didn’t—like I would somehow feel under appreciated.

So, I mostly ignore the receptionist. I walk while examining some papers that are obviously so important that I don’t have time to make eye contact and say something useless like “just off to the loo.”

I don’t know very much about chat etiquette. I can hold a normal conversation just fine. Email is easy enough. But the chat, that’s something all new to me.

Instant messaging is a great tool. It serves as a nice half-way point between email and phone call. I use it a lot for Overpass business. If I need to send you a message to say something like “Feel like going to lunch?” or “Are you watching the news right now?” then text chats are great. I don’t want to interrupt you with a phone call if your busy, but I don’t want to wait for you to check your email when it’s too late.

But when someone starts a chat message through Skype, MSN, or Yahoo and talks forever–I want to ask them for a voice conversation. I don’t like typing something and watching the “So-and-So is typing reply . . .” in the status bar. I start to get overly critical of their typing speed.

I often answer questions while they are typing new questions, which gets confusing.

There also seems to be no clear way to end a chat.

Otherperson: I’d better get going.

Me: Me too. See ya.

(I think it should end here, right? Close the chat window, but it pops up again)

Otherperson: Bye

Me: Bye

Otherperson: Have a good weekend.

Me: You too.

Otherperson: See you later.

Me (exasperated): Okay. Goodbye!

You see what I mean? It just goes on and on. I’ve spent twenty minutes in a chat conversation where my mind starts to wander and I surf while waiting for the other person to type a message before seeing “Otherperson: Are you still there?”

The needs to be chat rules. Anyone know of any?