As a kid I thought having a driver’s license was the equivalent of an all-expense-paid vacation. Things like gas, car payments or insurance never crossed my mind and I was obsessed with the idea of stealing my neighbor’s battery operated Barbie Jammin’ Jeep and hightailing it to Alaska.

Needless to say, I was more than a little surprised to find out there were a couple rules.

At sixteen I inherited a badass beater truck from my brother after he went to college. I named it Alfonso Egbert Hamilcar Johnson (Alf, for short) and I bashed the living jujubes out of it.

I was the absolute worst driver and it didn’t help that I had zero fear. As far as I was concerned, I was the big momma shark on the road and everyone could just get out of my way.

I had a knack for hitting stationary objects and within six months I’d hit three cars, four trees, many, many curbs and a dog (I still feel bad about that).

Alf started to develop a distinctly curvaceous waistline and it became the running joke amongst my friends that Alf was actually a transgendered vehicle and I was helping her reflect her true inner self.

I don’t think my parents thought this was very funny.

In an effort to keep me alive my mom duct taped a list of basic instructions to my sun visor.

This did not help.

Somewhere around my third speeding ticket the DMV revoked my license. I was devastated.

A month later I received a letter:

I immediately went out and hit a fire hydrant.

Soon after, I was transporting my little brother to some sporting event or other and we pulled onto the entrance ramp of the freeway. Everything was fine until Alf (being the trauma victim that he was) suddenly stalled out. Because the ramp was on a downgrade Alf kept moving at 20mph. I muttered a string of curses while desperately turning the key in the ignition and punching the gas.

Alf just grunted in protest.

With a thousand semi trucks hurtling past at a million miles per hour we casually coasted down the entrance ramp toward our doom. Naturally, I did what any responsible person with a driver’s license should do in a crisis. I threw my arms in the air and screamed.

I’ll never forget the look on my brother’s face.

At the very last possible second the engine roared to life and we sped up. I tried to play it off like it was no big deal.

I eventually got better at driving, but it wasn’t until after Alf exploded. We’ll talk about that some other time.