IF YOU CAN’T yet drive, it’s very likely you fall into one of two categories.
First, we have the non-drivers who are currently making their way through a series of lessons, with the hope of getting out on the open road as soon as humanely possible.
And then we have the second group.
These people have watched their circle of friends learn to drive and wax lyrical about insurance and NCTS, while they themselves cadged lifts, memorised the Dublin Bus timetable and slowly realised they may have left it too late on the driving front.
If you fall into the latter camp, you’ll know all too well the range of emotions which accompanies the life of a non-driver.
1. First, there’s the sense of obligation.
When you spend your adult life riding shotgun in your friends’ cars, it’s not long before you begin to feel a sense of obligation.
Securing a rep as a top-notch DJ doesn’t cut it anymore, and pitching in for petrol money is no longer enough, so you spend most of the journey toying with imaginative ways to give back to the drivers in your life.
2. Then there’s the vague (but misplaced) sense of jealousy.
Second-category non-drivers rely on public transport and are, therefore, used to dressing for all eventualities on the weather front, which often results in resentment aimed predominantly at drivers, who can wear whatever the hell they want because the weather doesn’t effect them.
Yeah, we know you have to defrost your windscreen and travel on treacherous roads, but at least you look good doing so, right?
3. Now it’s time to welcome perplexity.
If you’ve reached your 30s and still can’t distinguish between a clutch and a brake, you’ll invariably find yourself wondering how everyone else around you has managed to do so.
Why aren’t they terrified? How did they know they’d fit through there? How can they do two things at once? What does parallel parking mean?
4. And then comes the confusion.
Given how often you cadge lifts, it’s no surprise that the drivers in your life might assume you know a thing or two about navigating.
But you don’t. And that’s because you were too busy trying to impress people with your choice of tunes that you never really paid attention to anything around you.
5. And let’s not forget the mild shame.
Were you abroad the day everyone sat down and decided they were going to learn to drive? Why are you the only person who didn’t get the memo?
It started off with two keen members of your group passing their tests straight out of secondary school, and then over the years, it became abundantly clear you were the only one who never made the leap.
6. And don’t even mention petrol prices.
Do people really travel out of their way in order to save 2 cents on the gallon?
How much even is a gallon? Do petrol gift vouchers exist because they could really work now that your DJ skills don’t cut it anymore.
7. But then there’s the display of support.
As a result of the fact you can’t drive, you’re overly sympathetic when a driver suffers a near mental breakdown (due mostly to your woeful navigation skills).
While other drivers might offer unwelcome advice or hissed words of guidance, you listen, offer them a Percy Pig, and remind them you wouldn’t know if they were driving the wrong way up a one-way street, so no need for shame in this car.
8. And then there’s the fact you’ll never have to be designated driver.
If there’s one thing that being a non-driver has earned you, it’s the security of knowing you will never have to endure a night ferrying your drunk friends from town to town.
To be fair, it’s the one conversation you’re glad you’re excluded from.
