I learned to drive pretty late. Just three years ago, in fact, when James gave me the practice and confidence I needed. I had taken lessons way back in 1995, but never it didn't help that my brother Jo-Ed's idea of practice was driving three nervous circles around the village on first gear. It also didn't help that, on our third and last practice session ever, Jo-Ed was teaching me to back up in a cul de sac when I exclaimed, "Oh my God, a cute guy!" -- and heard the shattering of flowerpot from behind the car. Jo-Ed didn't buy my excuse that cute guys were a rarity in our neighborhood, and that my exclamation was well-deserved. And we never got in the car together again.
That cute-guy-at-the-sari-sari-store-in-the-cul-de-sac incident might as well have been a premonition of my driving a decade later.
INCIDENT # 1. I don't know if you'd agree, but I have the weird belief that everyone has to get into a car accident once in their driving lives. That came true for me in a stupid, but luckily rather safe way. A few months into my job, I had brought the car to a research agency near the office -- note that it was actually close enough to walk, haha -- and on the way back to the office I took an alternate route. Turning into Ayala from a sidestreet, I looked left at oncoming traffic -- I remember I even had a smug smile on my face, proud that I was smart enough to look out for oncoming traffic. Apparently I wasn't smart enough, because as I looked left I hadn't realized I was gliding steadily forward -- until there came the ugly, ugly crunch of metal as my bumper rammed into the rear end of the van stopped in front of me. Smart, smart, smart. Luckily it was pretty minor -- and I had fulfilled my mandatory "once-in-my-lifetime" car accident.
INCIDENT # 2. Or so I thought. One accident in your lifetime apparently doesn't get you off the hook. Though in retrospect, incident # 2 probably wasn't really an accident -- so much as it was an act of utter idiocy.Hangad was in two cars on the way to Bulacan for a concert in 2005 -- a whole bunch of people in Domi's van, and fewer in my car with James driving. On NLEX, one of Domi's tires burst and the van swerved suddenly. We pulled over, van then car. No one was hurt -- yet.
Initially it was fun and funny. We seized the opportunity to have a pictorial on NLEX (how often do you actually get to set foot on NLEX, after all?), and Hangad's not-so-manly-men were taking turns trying to operate the jack. 
The real fun started when, more than halfway through changing the tire, JC told me that our car was still unlocked. Thanks, I told him -- and I put to work a very important lesson from childhood to always lock your car. I got into the passenger seat. The motor was still running, the radio and air-con were on. And without giving it any thought, I locked the driver's door from the passenger side, locked the passenger door -- and got back out.
The satisfied smile that my car was now safe quickly turned to a horrified frown as the realization sank in. One car key in the ignition, the other in my bag in the trunk, and all doors locked. I felt sick to my stomach as I approached James, who was taking his turn at the jack; I bent down beside him, and whispered -- "I locked the keys inside the car."
"Hindi nga?"
In fairness to James, he didn't make it any worse than it already was. We looked at several options. I called my salesman from Honda, he was no help and didn't even seem interested in helping (which is why I bought my second car from someone else, the asshole). I clambered over the concrete barriers, through a break in the fence, to ask a talyer by the service road for wire with which to pick the locks. They had wire, but I had no talent in lock-picking.
The NLEX patrol had come along by this time. With trepidation they made the only viable suggestion -- break the window nearest my bag and reach in for the key. Fine. Big sigh. Jack. Towel. And a dull weak thud against the back window. I couldn't do it.
I handed the makeshift mace to one of the patrolmen, assured him he could go ahead and do it, then ran away as far as I could, hands over my ears, unwilling to see it happen.
When I had gathered the courage to walk back to the car, there was a gaping hole where the window used to be. I reached in, grabbed my key, opened the car, cleaned out the bits of broken glass, and did my best to cover the window with plastic. (It stayed that way for a few days -- good thing the office car maintenance allowance covered the repair.) We made it to Bulacan in time for the concert. And I thanked God for getting me through what was possibly the dumbest dumb luck of my life -- and resolved to be more mindful of my car in the future.
INCIDENT # 3. I would find months later that the dumbest dumb luck was yet to come. And that I was really forgetful about lessons I ought to learn.
James and I had lunch in Rockwell to celebrate a job offer he'd gotten. After dropping him off at his office, I was in my office's basement parking lot. There should have been nothing eventful about it -- I had backed into parking slots in that same basement hundreds of times -- but I guess I underestimated the evil fire hose cabinet lurking behind me, just waiting to make my day.
From the back of my months-young hatchback (I had just joined P&G and gotten a new car), there came the ugly, ugly crunch of metal -- and then of plexiglass cracking, and shattering, and falling bit by bit in tiny shards. In the rear view mirror I could see bits of my rear window falling inwards, into the trunk. First there came a few seconds of shock. I got out of the car and saw the culprit -- the fire hose cabinet had dented the metal and bent the window -- and still in shock, climbed back into the car. With trembling hands, dialed James' number -- and that's when the wild screaming started. "ANG... TANGA... TANGA... KO!!!!"
Fortunately I had enough wits about me to check for my insurance policy, and I was smart enough to keep it in the car. I dialed the number -- fortunately again, the policy I had gotten had some kind of priority status, which meant I could just drive into Honda and have it fixed that same afternoon. Thank God.
But that meant having to get to Honda first. I sped out of the parking lot -- yes, sped, because I didn't want the added hassle of the guards blaming me for breaking the glass on their stupid fire hose cabinet. Every meter I drove, could here glass tinkling and shifting, and I had to look in the rear view mirror every so often to make sure my window was still there. It was actually amusing, on EDSA, that I was parting the traffic behind me, with cars were moving out from behind me into other lanes. On the other hand, it was NOT funny when, near Honda, I didn't see a hump and sped over it and landed hard on the ground. Surprisingly, I still had a rear window after that.
Things went smoothly at Honda. Insurance was processed quickly, the service team was very professional, and I was relieved to find out I would get my car back in two days. Even my boss was very understanding when I told him I'd be taking the afternoon off. And I was pleasantly surprised to find the premium for my car insurance renewal was lower than I thought.
INCIDENT # 4. For a year after I got my license, I was still driving license-less. That's because, after a whole day of being manhandled by the LTO, I was told to come back because the license printing machine had conked out. Not wanting to waste another whole day at LTO, I relied on my license receipt.
Until one day shortly after I got my new company car, an MMDA flagged me down for having no license plates. Confidently I showed him my LTO registration, showing that I was still within the grace period for platelessness. He nodded, then asked for my license. I handed him my receipt.
"This is one year old," he said. "You should have gotten your license card by now."
No matter how I argued about LTO machine breakdowns and my busy schedule, he made a strong argument that driving without a license was a huge offense and could land me in jail. The only thing he listened to was Ninoy Aquino, and that was the very first time I became part of the cycle of corruption.
Agitated and unwilling to get into more trouble, I drove with utmost care to the office and immediately got in a cab to get to the LTO in Pasay.
Ironically, it only took me five minutes to get my license. No more manhandling, no fixers. My taxi ride to the LTO was actually longer than my time there. Leaving the LTO, I looked up to the sky -- "You get me in trouble for something I could have easily avoided... very funny, God."
In fairness to me, it's been a while since I had a mishap on the road. And I guess the urgency with which I renewed my license shows I'm actually getting better at learning my lessons.
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