By Patty Kreiser

Complaining about parking at the University is about as tired as a comedian joking about airplane food. So, I’ve decided to take this chance to share my experiences with driving. I’m a terrible driver, and I’m not ashamed to admit it. Since my last two editions of “Commuter Diaries,” I’ve been in two accidents, though neither of them were my fault-apparently, some people really like to hit parked cars. I’ve always wanted to know why I’m such a bad driver. Is it because I have a lead foot? Maybe it’s because I haven’t fully gotten the concept of braking before a stoplight. Or possibly because I suck at calculating depth perception? I’ve decided to document what goes on as I’m driving, and maybe I can finally get to the root of the problem.

I drive the same route every day. So let’s start at the beginning. I open the garage door, unlock my new car (I named it “Barbie” because it’s red) and get in it. Wait, where’s my coffee? It’s on top of my car. So I put my coffee in the cup holder. Oh, crap. I forgot my books. I go back into my house only to be stopped by my grandma. “Patty! Yo, Pat! Can you bring me the paper? I think your mom left it in the kitchen,” grandma says. I go into the kitchen and get the paper. “Is there anything else you need? I’m running late,” I respond. To most people, this is the cue to say, “Have a great day at school!” But for my grandma, it’s the time to rant about her latest aches and pains, how she barely slept last night and the new book she’s reading. So after a minute or two, I have to interrupt her venting and say, “I’m really sorry, but I’m running late; I’ve got to get going. Love you! I’ll see you later!” She continues talking to no one, and I feel bad, but I’ve got to get to school.

I run upstairs, grab my books, run back down the stairs and get into my car. I start the car and pray to the Lord that I don’t die while driving. I back out of the driveway. Sweet! I didn’t hit the telephone pole! Now I put the car into “Drive.” That’s the one with the “D,” right? Yes, it is. Now that that’s settled, I can drive down the block. Stoplight. The stoplight is probably the most annoying thing when you’re in a rush. I wait. Green light! I turn right, only to be stopped by another light. Life sucks. Green light. I turn onto Stewart Avenue. I remember to drive slow through the school zone-Stewart Manor police love to ticket people there. I look at the crossing guard. Is it in the job description to wear such ugly uniforms? Are crossing guards failed cops? Focus, Patty. Focus. I look back at the road. I stop at another light. I look into the car next to me. Why do we all look at the people next to us as we drive? I mean, we don’t appreciate it when they look in at us. But I just love to be nosy sometimes. Green light. Eyes on the road, Patty. I return my focus to the road. Oh! Pretty house! I love the houses on Stewart Avenue. I wonder what kind of people live in them. What do they do for a living? Why have I never seen a resident coming or leaving from their house? Pay attention, Patty!

I reach the intersection where I was hit by the cop. Since that day, I’ve been scared to go through the intersection. Will another idiot break traffic laws? Stop thinking about this! I tell myself to focus on the road. Oh! Shiny car! And a cute boy driving it! This is a good start to the day, indeed. All right, back to the task at hand: driving. Focus, Patty, focus.

I make it through the intersection unscathed. I get into the right lane and signal to make a right. Idiot! Someone just cut me off! How rude! What mean person would do that? Cute boy in shiny car cut me off! Well, he just got downgraded to ugly in my book!

I’m stopped at another light and look at the person in the car next to me. Gross! He’s picking his nose. That is so not right. Nose-picking is on the top of my list of things people should never do. I turn my attention back to traffic. I make my right turn. Gosh, I hate driving. I wish I could teleport myself to campus. I’d rather live on campus. But do I really want to live on campus? I could room with my friends, but we might get sick of each other. Back to driving, Patty.

I’m almost there. I hope my coffee’s not getting cold. Which cup holder did I put it in? Oh yeah, the cup holder in my door. I take my coffee out. Perfect. I love caffeine. Caffeine is like crack, except it’s legal and probably not as bad for me. I make a left onto Hempstead Turnpike and a right onto California Ave. I turn into the commuter lot behind Breslin Hall and park in my usual area-which I shall not disclose because I don’t want anyone taking my spot. Now, you may be thinking, if the University’s parking is so bad, then how did I get a spot? The trick to good parking is to get to school incredibly early. So early, in fact, that most people are still sleeping. If you look into other students’ cars in the lot, you’ll notice them with pillows and blankets napping, happy that they were able to get parking. So what if you had to wake up at the crack of dawn just in order to get a coveted parking spot in the commuter lot?

Well, friends, that is my commute to school. I still can’t decide at what point in my commute that I go wrong driving. I always use my turn signals and make sure I don’t hit pedestrians. Sometimes I want to yell, “Ten points for hitting an old lady!” But I don’t; hitting old people is mean. I keep my eyes on the road. Most of the time, anyway-I’m easily distracted by shiny objects, cute boys, pretty things, drinking coffee on the road, cringing at the thought of people picking their nose, checking my voicemail; the usual distractions any driver faces. Also, I always stop at stop signs (All right, “I totally paused,” to quote the movie “Clueless”).

I guess I’ll never know why I’m such a terrible driver. All I can say is drivers and pedestrians, look out: I’m a terrible driver and I’ll probably be awful. Oh, well. At least I’m not the one hitting parked cars in the parking lot.

Patty Kreiser is a sophomore broadcast journalism student. You may e-mail her at [email protected].