It was 9:50 when I arrived at the road test site in Fresh Meadows this morning. My appointment was scheduled for 10. We had just gotten our car washed, and I had then squeezed in some last-minute practice, doing some parallel parking (which I was very anxious about) and three-point turns. My father pulled up behind the last car on the surprisingly short line. There were five cars ahead of us.

Nervousness set in. My hands were shaking and I felt like I was going to throw up. I kept visualizing the correct way to pull away from the curb: signal, check the mirror, check the blind spot, step gently on the gas pedal. If I did that right, there would be no problems; I was prepared. I’d been driving for two years, and had been practicing every day for the past two weeks, perfecting my technique.

It was ten o’clock. There were three DMV workers there. One got into the car in front of us. However, shortly after she did, one of her coworkers, a strange-looking man in ugly sunglasses, beckoned her out of the car. They joined the third off in the distance, under the shade of a tree. They then got into a small red car and drove away.
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