A City Girl in Small Town America

It wasn't until I moved into a small town in New York State that I became aware of the true implications of living outside a metropolis like New York. Growing up in Europe, I was well aware of the basic facts: Americans drive everywhere, they live far from the stores, they never get to walk and that's why they're so fat (sorry, weight challenged). In New York City I never drove a car, in fact, I first got my driver's license at the ripe old age of 25 going on 26.
A month ago, we moved to Rockland County and my life changed forever.

Day 1: Need basic groceries... I grab my purse, then realize I cannot walk to the store. No more exercise. Wait for husband and car.

Day 4: Need basic groceries. Husband needed car, I am stuck at home. Cannot walk to store. Will have to shop after 9:00 PM.

Day 7: Need basic groceries. Time to join civilization. I grab the car keys and slowly reverse and drive out of our parking lot. Look ma, four wheels, no legs! I follow the main roads, afraid of getting lost in the maze of narrow small-town streets. There it is, the superkmarket. Destination reached! But wait, whatever happened to parallel parking? That's all they teach you in New York City, but here in small-town all you have to do is make a sharp turn, hit the brakes, and voila', you're parked. Sounds simple enough, right? Wrong, not if you've been trained to parallel park on the mean streets of Brooklyn. I slowly turn into the parking spot, and end up taking up two spaces. Uh oh, bad. I try again, and do a little better. I proudly exit the car, even remembering to lock it. That's when I spot the sign: Disabled Parking.

Not good. I reverse and start all over again.

40 Minutes later, I'm home. I park, grab the groceries, and sigh blissfully: I'm all grownup!

Day 10: Car fever has taken hold of me. I love this car, love going to exciting new places such as Target, Kohl's, Walmart, even the bank. Something dawns on me: Small-Town America cannot walk. Small-Town America must drive. Walking can be done for leisure, but when you drive you need a purpose- gas is expensive after all. And that's why America shops so much. Driving= going to work, or going to shop. I work from home, and I drive to shop. Sometimes, I shop to drive. I am now part of the great cult of consumerism, and always broke.

Day 15: I am now familiar with the smaller roads, and consider myself a veteran driver. I honk impatiently at people who drive too slowly, or those who make a right turn without flashing their signal. Do not mess with me, small-town America, I am the transplant who has seen it all.
Another small-town treat: I can make a right turn on red unless a sign explicitly prohibits it.

Day 25: I pick up my husband after work. For the first time ever, there's a passenger with me in the car. We talk and talk and I nearly slam into the stopped vehicle ahead of me. The next day, I nearly back up into a parked car. My husband has a look of terror on his face. 'I don't drive this way!' I protest, attempting to uphold my honor as excellent new driver. 'It's because you're talking to me! I'm not used to having people with me in the car!'. My husband softens 'Are you alright?' He asks. 'Yes,' I say 'But I never drive this way! Do you believe me?!' He believes me. He knows how it is. But I can't help feeling he sits at his desk at work worried sick about my female driving skills.

Day 30: I'm inching towards a red light and I get rear-ended. No damage. Idiot doesn't stop. Who gives these goats a license?

Day 31: I think it's time to DRIVE to the park so I could WALK. Welcome to America, love.