Cold1, G1

After almost 19 years of putting off the inevitable, I woke up this blistery cold morning and decided to do it. No more excuses, it was time for action. My purpose today was to obtain my G1 license - the written test. Upon passing this, I knew that I would be issued my ticket to learn to drive, with a licensed driver.

Knowing that the examination centre opened at 8:30am, I quickly got myself ready. I didn't bolt out the door right away though. Being academically minded, I wanted to review my material and set about retaking online G1 practice tests. Satisfied with my scores, I then called the taxi company to assist me in my voyage from Mississauga to Brampton. It is tempting to start ranting about how Mississauga, a city with almost 1 million people, doesn't have an examination centre, but I'll leave that one alone for today. I will mention though that since I'm a frequent client of the taxi company, I did receive best wishes to pass. An unexpected boost of confidence indeed.

My two options were Brampton or Oakville. Estimating that Brampton would likely be busier because unlike Oakville, it offers all classes of licensing, I still chose the Flower City location because of its proximity to restaurants and shopping. Idyllically, I dreamed of grabbing a pipping hot latte after spending say, a mere 20 minutes of driver test requirements.

Seated in the warm cab, I chatted animatedly with the friendly driver who warned me that due to the strike, (a labour disruption beginning in August 2009 put thousands of driver applications and renewals at risk), the centre was extremely busy. I tossed out the idea of going to Oakville instead but with dreams of shopping in my head, I stayed on course to go to Brampton.

As the car turned towards the front of the building, my jaw dropped at the sight that greeted me. It appeared that 100 people were waiting outside the examination centre. Technically -6C but feeling like -13C, the task before me was daunting. The cab driver looked apologetically at me and said weakly, "Perhaps they're not open yet?" Knowing that the centre had opened almost 1 hour ago, I smiled and said, "No, they're open." He asked me, "What do you want to do?" The friendly driver guessed that I would want to turn around. Convincingly I said, "I want to go through it." I handed over my credit card for payment and mentally prepared myself for the physical onslaught to follow.

As I exited the cab, I eyed the long line and not being one for prayer, hoped for a quick wait outdoors. Thankful for having worn a bulky sweater, lined ski jacket, furry boots, knitted hat and scarf, and gloves (although leather was the wrong choice - I needed my thick Kombi gloves), I took my place behind the sea of bulky jackets and incredulous faces. Initially, I had thought to use the wait time to review my Driver's Study Guide, and I did get through a few pages but then the cold reality bit me fiercely. The frosty temperature was not conducive to such an undertaking. With the flimsy gloves, my poor fingers could not withstand the pressure. Burying my hands in my warm sleeves, I wiggled my fingers and got my legs to join in on the action. Humming Annie Lennox's "I Need a Man" over and over in my head, I was certain that I could have nabbed the "Worst Dancing In This or Any Year" award. I shook myself around on the spot continuously and sometimes knocked into the others in the line up. A speedy apology would fly out of my mouth. In response, I was always greeted with a smile and a relaxed "It's OK." Perhaps the unexpected body heat was a welcome respite.

Commiserating with fellow G1 wannabes (road test applicants can just walk-in, no waiting required), we shared sighs and complained about our numb toes. Occasionally, I would eye the Harveys across the street dreaming of a quick coffee run but I knew that I couldn't lose my spot. Too much was at stake.

A lovely lady waiting with her son, offered the warmth of her car to two freezing teenaged girls in front of me, promising them she'd keep their spot in line. The girls politely declined, however, the lovely lady went into her car and grabbed an extra coat to give them. Despite how cold I was feeling on the outside, the warm ray of her kindness fueled me on the inside.

As the crowd inched closer and closer to the Promised Door, I started to feel hope again. This is it, I thought. We're almost there. At one point, those of us in the front were all allowed in. Exclaiming, "I can't believe this!" I happily scampered inside. My visit in the Promised Land was tragically shortlived. An employee of the centre ordered us all out (I heard the words "numbers of people" and "fire hazard").

The wait after that felt especially cruel and unusual. With my constant uncoordinated movements during my stay warm exercise, my thighs had hardened into solid rocks. I decided right there and then that I would not need to exercise for 1 week following this flirtation with torture.

Finally, after a shocking 2 hour wait, I heard the words, "The next two." Those words were intended for the 16-year old in front of me and for yours truly. Shaking, not out of excitement, but out of sheer cold, I handed over my birth certificate and passport at the registration desk. A number was handed to me and I quickly found a seat beside a teenaged girl and her mother. Although I hd found a spot to sit, I learned that my rock hard legs were not agreeable to sitting. After some dramatic gestures, I forced my way into the seat. Feeling mortified, I laughed it off and quietly reminded myself that such incidents make for great comedic moments in storytelling.

My number was quickly called and I met with the administrator. My shaky hands struggled to sign my name but after a few attempts, my signing ability returned. A vision test here, a few questions there, and I thought the test would be handed to me to write. Not so fast. Full stop.

Being an insulin dependent diabetic, I'm considered disabled from the point of view of the Ontario Human Rights Commission. A fact that I myself was not aware of until a good friend of mine, also an insulin dependent diabetic, came over for tea this past Saturday and happened to mention that.

My administrator was informed by a colleague that due to my "insulin diabetes", my application would need to be reviewed by a medical board. The review board would contact my doctor and then a decision would be made as to whether I was eligible to write the test. The words, "She won't be writing today" hung shamefully in the air.

My mind racing, I showed a cool exterior, not hard to do since my body was still recovering from the cold, and smiled and politely asked for additional information regarding the review process. I bit down hard on my tongue and resisted the urge to ask why my diabetes was an issue now when it wasn't an issue as I stood outside for two hours.

My administrator, doing her due diligence, consulted with another colleague and checked the Rule Book. According to the rules, the diabetes is only an issue if there has been a reaction within the 1-year period preceding application. I confidently declared that I had not experienced any hospitalizations, ER visits, blah, blah, for my diabetes within the 1-year. After declaring a few more particulars regarding my diabetes and forking over the $125 fee, I was given my luminous white test paper.

Eagerly I sat down and began answering the multiple choice test. I breezed through it and then went over my answers. Changing only one answer and confident that I had answered most of the questions correctly, I placed my completed test in the to-be-marked-pile.

The wait for my result was long but I was not complaning - it was warm inside. With my BlackBerry hidden in my purse so as to not draw attention, I emailed friends and checked Facebook. I then practiced memorizing my speech for my Toastmasters meeting the following day. I went through this a few times before my name was called.

I passed. I'm now on the yellow brick road. If I enroll in a driver's school, which I will, I can take my G1 road test in 8 months from now. Otherwise, it's a 12 month wait. Next step: behind the wheel.