The Road Scholar November 6
Question: “Who else, other than a Police Officer and a Transport Officer in uniform can lawfully stop the driver of a Motor Vehicle on the roadway?“
The correct answer is (a) “Any person in charge of a horse or any other animal.“ In the bush, this right-of-way granted to shepherds and cattlemen might make sense, but to city boys it is an utterly ridiculous notion. “Does this mean pets have more rights than us?“ my student Azhar asks, while Gabriel and Jinan decry the tyranny of dogs and cats.
This question is certain to be on my TT drivers exam this morning, as are they all—the practice exam, typos and all, is in fact the actual exam, I am informed. Sixty-eight multiple-choices cover everything for someone prepared to drive on the left side of the road: maximum load permitted in a light vehicle (2950 kg), driving age (17 yrs), minimum parking distance from a hydrant (3 m) and an intersection (9 m, that’s 30 goddamned feet!), maximum vehicular speed in the city (50 km) and in the bush (80 km), child placement (neither on lap nor in trunk), and the various and sundry infractions which may result in “arrest of the driver without warrant.“
I am ready for this, I tell myself, after trying to enter my car from the wrong side. I arrive at the port for my test, parking near some UN-sized cruise ship with the title Princess. The registry of motor vehicles is understaffed today due to the Diwali celebration, which is officially tomorrow, but, unofficially, never really ends. Today is apparently the day of preparation—construction of delicate model ships and commemorative lanterns, the slow simmer of spiced dishes, and general Hindi ferment. Thursday promises to be the unofficial day of recovery, and one day may not be enough. The uniformed examiner is frankly stunned that I would even attempt to purchase a license today ($500 TT), despite my pre-scheduled appointment.
“Who did you talk to? I will give this person a firm tongue lashing if she has misled you.“
I never mentioned that it was a woman who booked my appointment, but this man’s authority is not to be challenged. He smiles broadly to demonstrate magnanimity, explaining that my paperwork is inadequate, my plans are unfeasible, and my ignorance unfathomable. I do not dispute his interpretation of the situation, partly because his accent is too thick to draw proper meaning, but mostly because his decision seemed set before I ever arrived. Officer Patel’s job today is mostly to send people away. At the front door, a fag-smoking clerk in flip flops is expelling anyone wearing short pants or sleeveless shirts, but a dress code violation is only one of the measures to cull the herd.
The officer’s blue hat is too big for his head, his decorated epaulets balance like oversize postcards on his boney shoulders. His large metal desk has nothing on it. He grins coldly and advises, “You will need to come back with the proper papers. Then you will schedule your exam for another day.“
“Two days are required for this? I was told that this might be completed in one day.“
“Who told you that?“ he repeats.
“Not you, sir.“ The voice that told me so is surely not at work today. I know I am not. Almost nobody is at work on the eve of the holiday. Surely. Maybe her name is Shirley, or Eve, or Princess Cruz. Maybe I should become a shepherd, or a sheep—then perhaps I might yet receive the royal treatment at the TT DMV.