Which Side?

I keep forgetting that here you have to look RIGHT, not left, before stepping off the curb.

I’m OK, but the driver of the car I stepped in front of may need to have his heart checked out by his doctor.

Australians drive on the left, the steering wheel positioned on the right side of the car. I was anxious about this when I picked up the little, expensive convertible I’d hired in Sydney. Sydney has become a hard-edged, unforgiving city and there is a major re-investment in urban infrastructure resulting in extensive rebuilding of roads and expressways. How would I manage to get out of a strange city, driving on the wrong side, in one piece?

I did, without a problem.
I didn’t go round any round-a-bouts the wrong way; didn’t pull out onto busy roadways into the wrong lane; didn’t hit any kangaroos and had no encounters with road-crossing koalas or penguins. I periodically did a double take when I saw the “driver” of the car in the lane next to me reading the newspaper or obviously asleep, until I remembered, gratefully, that that was the passenger.

The real challenge came when my sister-in-law tossed me the keys to her SUV and said, “Drive me to the mall.” No problem, till I realized that it has a manual transmission. The stick shift is on the left. I am right handed and, while I’ve lots of experience driving manuals, they all had the gearshift on the right! I passed the test and was presented with my own set of keys!

Until the other night. We went over to Addison for dinner at a highly reviewed Vietnamese restaurant. Excellent food. We were included in the celebrations of a wedding party and ate excessively of things we could not name. The designated driver, I knew I was in trouble the moment I got into the truck – it was dark outside. With fewer reference points to keep me on the right, I mean left, side . . . .

We did get home, with the coaching of many back-seat drivers, and I lived to step in front of a fast moving, but well-braked, BMW yesterday. If I was going to bite the dust down under, at least it was a BMW that was going to take me . . . .

Gasoline prices . . . higher than ours, as you can see ("Autogas" is natural gas), and they go up every weekend and holiday.