Am I a bad driver?

For the past two weeks I have been reading a new book in my spare time. It's called "Traffic" (by Tom Vanderbilt) and its a sociological look at why we drive the way we do. I have found this book interesting, if only because it answers my question of what people actually do with a degree in sociology (write books apparently). Though the book raises a number of interesting points (like most bad traffic being caused by not treating other cars as people), one of the most telling points he's raised so far is a quote by some formula one driver (that's like NASCAR for europeans). Basically he says there are two things men won't admit they're bad at, one of which is driving (the other doesn't fit in with my blog...). As a man, I take umbrage at that statement. I would happily admit I were a bad driver, if I were. But I'm not. So I won't.

But hypothetically speaking, if I were a bad driver, would I know it? When I was in high school I was in an inordinate amount of close calls (at intersections, in parking lots, on the freeway etc) many of which were not crashes only due to my finely tuned reflexes and split-second timing (thank you Nintendo!). Of course, none of these were my fault. At the time, I chalked most of those up to the fact that other people were simply trying to put my car (a 1987 Chevy Nova that smelled like a skunk) out of its misery. Sort of an automobile mercy kill. In retrospect, however, I may be willing to admit that it's possible that I wasn't a great driver in high school (nah..).

Fortunately, now that I'm old and grown (and no longer driving a car with holes in it), I'm the epitome of a gentleman driver, and perfectly willing to admit it.

(p.s. of course the formula one driver didn't say anything about women being bad drivers - that just goes without saying!)