"Fuck," Stephen said to himself as he stared at the computer screen. Fifteen out of twenty meant he'd failed again...by a single point. After waiting in line for hours behind the other peons at the Driving Test Facility located in the Canotek area in eastern Ottawa, Ontario. For the second time in about an hour, Stephen failed the second half of the damned written test. He'd worried so much about the signs that he overlooked the rules of the road, and now he was paying the price...sixteen bucks per attempt.
"Mr. Stephen, how did you do?" asked the nerdy, bespectacled young white woman sitting at the desk right next to the exam room. Stephen got up, grabbed his backpack and exited the facility. He'd never failed an exam like this. Hell, he'd aced the LSAT without much prep and graduated from Carleton University with honors. How could the Ontario written driving test kick his ass? Dammit, this sucks.
"I'm out of here," Stephen said to no one in particular as he got the hell out of the driving test center. He made a beeline for the parking lot, and ran up the hill. He grabbed the first OC Transpo bus he saw, and hurried out of there. I'm such a loser, Stephen thought dourly. He'd seen various folks walk out with their new temporary licences, all proud and shit, and he felt envious. Why couldn't he be so lucky?
Stephen shook his head as he thought of the sacrifices he'd made just to get to the test center. Yesterday, he'd come on his day off, and aced the first half of the test, the one having to do with road signs, while missing the mark on the second half, the one having to do with road rules. To Stephen, a lifelong passenger who dreamed of driving, cars were a mysterious lot and the open road was as unpredictable as a storm-tossed sea. Still, a man must move forward, right?
Stephen woke up at six o'clock on that fateful morning, grabbed the bus and then hiked on foot to get to the driving test center. He'd studied the night before and done the practice tests online. What the fuck did those damn Canadian DMV people want from him? Stephen remembered feeling amazed when the bozos working there told him that they only served people born between certain dates due to Covid restrictions. Canadian obstructionism at its best. Makes me miss Boston, Stephen thought sadly.
Stephen rode the bus in silence, and got off downtown. He needed to sit down somewhere and recoup. With Covid going strong and so many damn Canadians acting scared, what with their masks and everything, the tall, burly and dark-skinned Haitian brother knew that his chances of finding an open restaurant were less than optimal. Well, an open restaurant that allowed clients to sit down and eat instead of being terrified of fucking Covid would be nice. Just to be safe, Stephen went to the Rideau shopping center and got himself some Chinese food. When in doubt, stick with the Chinese...
Walking through the Rideau shopping center after his repast, Stephen saw the usual suspects. Middle-aged white dudes and their Asian girlfriends. Young white women hanging out with brown guys. The obligatory black man with the chubby white girlfriend. The effeminate gay male with the gorgeous but annoying female friend who stares longingly at the young guys walking by, talking loud and acting macho. The lonely people walking from store to store, browsing and buying nada. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"No thanks," Stephen mumbled as a tall, skinny white dude with a staring problem tried to make eye contact with him. Translation? Mr. Stare is into dudes, senses something about Stephen, and wonders if he's down for some fun. Stephen ignores the bozo and pointedly stares at the ass of a curvy Hijabi gal who is bending over to tie her shoelaces. If there's anything dudes who only like dudes don't like it's men who swing both ways. Surprised, and disgusted, Mr. Stare walks away, and Stephen smiles. Works every time...