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Today's post is a continuation of Part 1 of the story.
After acing my written driving test, I turned to Romeo again for advice on driving lessons. My goal remained the same: to get a driver's license on my 18th birthday, now just two months away. I needed a reliable instructor with a great record.
Romeo gave me the number of Frank, a popular Cantonese-speaking instructor in his circle. "I got my license after six lessons." he said, "Each lesson is two hours, and he charges $60."
I had been living in the U.S. for a few months then, but making financial decisions on my own remained an adjustment. I'd often convert prices to my home currency and be shocked by how much everyday things—like underwear and socks—cost here.
I would also compare prices to the cost of lunch. An indulgent lunch option for me was the $8 special combo at J&J Hawaiian Barbecue across the street from campus. The meal was pure bliss: two types of juicy, well-marinated grilled meat, a big scoop of mac salad drenched in mayonnaise, and two scoops of white rice. (I could hear my mother's voice every time, "There's no veggies in this!")
Most days, though, I went to the Panda Express next door, where I had discovered a secret deal: Three entrees, two sides, and a drink for $6—while the uninitiated paid $10. Once, a Chinese woman about my mother's age worked at the cash register. After she realized we shared the same hometown, she handed me a "Panda Express VIP card," which gave me a 10% discount on the next ten visits. "I will give you another when you run out," she said. "Feel free to get any soda from the fountain." I also figured out from reading the receipt that taking a quick phone survey would get me a free entree on the next order—and I repeated that trick every time.
I did the math: Romeo's six driving lessons were worth about three months of weekday lunches at Panda Express.
I thought, I can do better than that.
I called Frank for an appointment on a Friday morning, and he picked up immediately. "How about today?" he said.
That afternoon, a silver Nissan Altima pulled up outside my apartment complex on the San Jose-Cupertino border. I climbed in and noticed two sets of pedals, including one on the passenger side, though there was only one steering wheel, like in a regular car.
Frank was bald, likely in his late fifties. He spoke with a coarse voice, and his car carried a faint trace of cigarette smell. Frank said he was Vietnamese-Chinese, and based on the Cantonese he spoke, he must have lived in America for a long time.
"Have you read the DMV handbook?" he asked.
"Um… What DMV handbook?" I said, unsure what he meant.
Expressionless, Frank turned the car engine off, rolled down the windows, and pulled out a ballpoint pen and a notepad from his messenger bag. He began sketching.
"This is a stop sign—you have to come to a complete stop," he said without explaining himself. "And this is a yield sign. You need to slow down and check for traffic."
Well, I know that.
More diagrams—road signs, traffic lights, and intersections—followed. At first, I assumed this would be a quick introduction before the driving part of the lesson, but Frank kept flipping to new pages, covering every possible scenarios involving two-way and four-way stop signs.
An hour in, it hit me: this lesson would be all theory, no driving. My heart sank. Did I spend 60 bucks for doodles? Is this guy stalling to squeeze more lessons out of me?
"Hey!" Frank interrupted my thoughts. "Where should you wait before making an unprotected left turn?"
I pointed to a line near the traffic light on his diagram but kept my eyes on him, reassessing whether he was trustworthy.
"No, that's too far back," he said. "When the light is green, you should be in the middle of the intersection, ready to turn when the opposite traffic clears. I just explained this..."
Another hour passed, and I left Frank's car exactly where I had entered. Somehow I was reminded of my first high school physics class on the difference between distance and displacement. Well, that was an example of zero distance and zero displacement.
I was angry but also confused. Did Frank rip me off? Sure, I learned a few things, but none of it justified two weeks worth of Panda Express lunches. I'd been excited about driving for the first time, but instead I paid sixty bucks for sitting through a lecture I could have read on my own for free, while Frank didn't even use a drop of gas.
I dragged myself back to my apartment on the second floor. As I unlocked the door of unit seven, another insight hit me: Romeo was to blame, too. He could have told me to read the DMV handbook ahead of time.
At the very least, he should be have told me it existed!
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