Sunday Driver

I’ve been abducted by aliens.

7am sharp this morning my door was opened and I was invaded by family. I turned off my life and grabbed my bags and got in to the vehicle that would deliver me to my potential tomb. There my next trial was presented to me, my mother was driving the car.

On the best of days my mother can be a trying individual, more then enough to strain the patience of even the most saintly of peoples, but behind the wheel of a car she is an infuriating health risk. To get from Toowong to the airport is quite simple, get to the ICB, then get into the airport tunnel, then follow the signs. Immediately, as if to forewarn me of what was to come, we turned the wrong way.

The car we were in was equipped with GPS which was turned off to be replaced by a flock of backseat drivers who surely knew better. They did not know better. We soon corrected our course and headed towards the ICB when some deviant bastard uttered the words “then go into the tunnel”. A horrified cry was risen as my mother protested using the tunnel as she suddenly decided that she doesn’t like tunnels. Too late, no turning back now, she would just have to tell us at length what she didn’t like about tunnels while we went through it.

Throughout the airport link tunnel, and along the ICB for that matter, there is copious signage all indicating the direction to take to get to the airport, apparently this is not signage enough as the backseat drivers were relied upon to tell her where to go. The council has even gone so far as to paint airport symbols on the road in the lanes you should be in to get to your desired destination but they must be painted in a spectrum that is incompatible with my mothers eyes. We very nearly took every exit on the way to the airport. As an aside, the airport tunnel doesn’t have an exit for the airport, it just goes to the airport, you get in the tunnel and you go through it to the airport. Simple.

Sunlight proved an unimaginable relief as we emerged from the tunnel in one piece and approached the airport. Once more there was extensive signage for all places you might like to end up at the airport, our destination was to be the valet parking. 2 near misses and some frantic lane changes later we ascended towards the parking area to be greeted by technology, a gate and a card reader.

For valet parking booked online they match your credit card to the booking and scan it upon entry. Simple. The machine spat the card back out. It repeatedly spat the card back out. It just would not take the card no matter how many times she rotated it. Our wits at their end, my brother extracted himself from the car, grabbed the card, and plunged it into the machine. It worked first try. I gave thanks to whatever power was surely watching over me today that we had safely reached our point of departure and hurriedly got myself out of the car.

Once the bags were removed from the car, we were forced to pause a moment while my mother hunted through her bags and dropped her final bomb on us for the morning after driving us through treacherous traffic.

“I need to find my glasses, I can’t see where I’m going”.