Driving Instructors Quotes

Don't call me darling. I'm a driving instructor!

Oh, Micheal darling!" "Don't call me darling, I'm a driving instructor!

Where’d you learn to drive? (Steele) Richard Petty’s School of Driving. Had a great instructor there named Steven Norbert who showed me how to dog the shit out of en engine. Why? (Joe)

Do not think us as traffic cops, or even driving instructors. Think of us instead as your onboard navigation system, available day or night, a friendly voice to turn to whenever you look up, lost and afraid, and think "How the fuck did I end up here?

When you think about it, the Big Bang's a big like school, isn't it? ... Well, I mean to say, one day we'll all leave here and become scientists and bank clerks and driving instructors and hotel managers -- the fabric of society, so to speak. But in the meantime, that fabric, that is to say, us, the future, is crowded into one tiny little point where none of the laws of society applies, viz., this school. -Ruprecht

I totally thought I’d failed again, but the instructor was like, ‘Your driving is unpleasant, but it isn’t technically unsafe.

My instructor was a skinny guy in his midtwenties who had a shaved head that was always peeling from sunburns and who could only have smelled more like marijuana if he'd been made of it. The training vehicle was a mid- '80s tan Nissan that had working breaks on the passenger side; He often got his jollies slamming them on for no reason and then between wheezing laughs saying 'You were all like 'I'm in control of the car' and then I hit the brakes and shit and you were all like 'whaaaat?

Since I did Selection all those years ago, not much has really changed. The MOD (Ministry of Defence) website still states that 21 SAS soldiers need the following character traits: “Physically and mentally robust. Self-confident. Self-disciplined. Able to work alone. Able to assimilate information and new skills.” It makes me smile now to read those words. As Selection had progressed, those traits had been stamped into my being, and then during the three years I served with my squadron they became molded into my psyche. They are the same qualities I still value today. The details of the jobs I did once I passed Selection aren’t for sharing publicly, but they included some of the most extraordinary training that any man can be lucky enough to receive. I went on to be trained in demolitions, air and maritime insertions, foreign weapons, jungle survival, trauma medicine, Arabic, signals, high-speed and evasive driving, winter warfare, as well as “escape and evasion” survival for behind enemy lines. I went through an even more in-depth capture initiation program as part of becoming a combat-survival instructor, which was much longer and more intense than the hell we endured on Selection. We became proficient in covert night parachuting and unarmed combat, among many other skills--and along the way we had a whole host of misadventures. But what do I remember and value most? For me, it is the camaraderie, and the friendships--and of course Trucker, who is still one of my best friends on the planet. Some bonds are unbreakable. I will never forget the long yomps, the specialist training, and of course a particular mountain in the Brecon Beacons. But above all, I feel a quiet pride that for the rest of my days I can look myself in the mirror and know that once upon a time I was good enough. Good enough to call myself a member of the SAS. Some things don’t have a price tag.

From the earliest I remember, I was car obsessed. I ate, slept, and drank cars. Naturally, I was desperate to learn and passed my driving test at seventeen. Two weeks after, I passed my race license. I loved it; in the first twelve months of driving, I covered 25,000 miles for no reason other than I enjoyed it. After passing my race test, I got my instructor’s card and became a self-employed racing driver at the age of eighteen. I worked for two local companies that did driving experiences with customers. I was paid to drive Ferraris and Lamborghinis on a racetrack. Yes, I was paid to drive exotic cars most people dream of sitting in, let alone owning. And I was paid well for it. In the first three years of being licensed, I owned fourteen different cars, sometimes three cars at the same time. All of my earnings went to my cars, and I loved life. I could work at whatever racetrack I wanted. Sounding more like a success story, right? I worked in that industry for four years, and by the time it was over, I HATED driving. The one thing that defined me—my love of cars—was absolutely killed by that job. Everyone who got in a car with me said I had the best job in the world, and for a while, I agreed with them. But after 30,000 laps on the same track, I can tell you I want nothing more to do with them. I did that job because I loved driving cars. I didn’t do it because I loved hospitality or the thrill customers received. I did it because I drove cars I couldn’t afford. I was in it for the wrong reasons. Don’t “do what you love,” because even if you are lucky to make a living doing it, you won’t love it for very long. You should love the value you create. The process is hard, but it’s justified by your love of the value that is created through it.

As he struggled to handle the vehicle, his instructor patiently explaining how to accelerate and steer, he found himself wishing he were back home, reading a book about detectives that drive around in dune buggies and solve mysteries on the beach. Once he flipped the dune buggy and was kicked off the course, he went back to his hotel room and wrote the article in less than an hour and then smoked pot until he fell asleep. He had assumed the same thing would happen with the potato gun story, a few hours of boring explanations of how the cannons were built and what principles they operated on before he watched them fire off a few rounds of potatoes.

I miss you. I'm having the best sex of my life and I don't have anyone to tell about it." "You're having the best...this driving instructor is he best." "You know what my feet are like, right?" "I try not to think about them, but yes." "Well, he sucks my toes." There was a momentary silence, and then Bronwyn let out a long-suffering sigh. "Okay...

LOVE yourself, and what you’re doing, even if you’re not yet at the place you hope to land. Let joy be the thing that drives you, and I bet you’ll get there faster. Give yourself permission to make mistakes. Those mistakes are as valuable as the triumphs. If you free yourself from having to be “right,” you’ll open so many doors. You might choose classes that interest you, rather than ones you’re “supposed” to take. You might carry a book with you that isn’t something you’re required to read for school. You might try something new—like, say, taking a three-day spinning instructor certification class—and change direction entirely. And why not? Your job doesn’t define you—your bravery and kindness and gratitude do. Even without any “big” accomplishments yet to your name, you are enough. Whether you have top billing, or you’re still dancing in the back row, you are enough, just as you are.

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Prince Philip asked a driving instructor in Oban, Scotland, in 1995, ‘How do you keep your natives off the booze long enough to get them through the test?

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His profile had said he was a diving instructor, which had sounded suitably alpha to Donna. Of course, she had misread the profile, and so had ended up having very disappointing sex with a driving instructor. She had also made the mistake of telling her mum and Chris about it, and they had a field day. Mum had made a number of jokes about his gearstick, and Chris had said, ‘Did he look in his mirror before pulling out?

Daily Bread by Stewart Stafford Butcher short-changed me again, There’s sawdust in the sausages, Grocer’s growing grosser and then, A proposition with my messages. The driving instructor’s pissed on bends, I went and told his mother, The barman’s watering down pints for friends Like he’s feeding his baby brother. The barber’s still one hair off, One side doesn’t match the other, Bookie won’t take my bets and lends, The landlord another sucker. Tossed out in the street to fend for myself, With all the other refuse, Garbage man fills his truck with me, At least I still have one use. © Stewart Stafford, 2021. All rights reserved.

Kelley gives the planning everything he’s got, both strategically and financially. He rents a Jaguar, the height of luxury (and fast, Kelley thinks). They will drive to Boston, have dinner at Alden and Harlow in Cambridge, and stay at the Langham, Mitzi’s favorite hotel—then in the morning, after breakfast in bed, they’ll drive to Deerfield, Massachusetts, and meander through the three-hundred-year-old village. From Deerfield, they’ll head to Hanover, New Hampshire, to have lunch at Dartmouth (Mitzi’s father, Joe, played basketball for Dartmouth in 1953 and Mitzi has always felt an affinity for the place), and then they’ll drive to Stowe, Vermont, and stay at the Topnotch, a resort. From Stowe, it’s up to Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom to spend the night in St. Johnsbury. From there, they’ll go to Franconia Notch State Park, where they’ll ride the Cannon Mountain Aerial Tramway for the ultimate in foliage viewing. They’ll end with a night in charming Portsmouth, New Hampshire, a town Kelley thinks is possibly the best-kept secret in America. He has arranged for a couple’s massage in front of the fire, for them to go apple-picking, on a hayride, out to dinners at fine country inns where bottles of champagne will be chilled and waiting on the tables, and for a personal yoga instructor in Stowe and then again in Portsmouth. He has made a mix of Mitzi’s favorite songs to play on the drive, and he’s packing up pumpkin muffins and his famous snack mix (secret ingredient: Bugles!) in case they get hungry on the road.

And you know, while I’m at it, I don’t care what arcane passage you pull out of the Old Testament and run through your Jeremiah-begat-Jedediah Decoder Ring, one of the definitive tenets of Christianity is tolerance. Trust me, there’s no version of the Bible that says Love thy neighbor unless he’s a Peter Allen fan. Any supposedly Christian doctrine must have at the core a belief in the concept of unqualified love for your fellow man. Unless of course he proves himself to be a total asshole. Then you can ditch him. Sure, God understands that, who do you think booked Satan’s flight? What he can’t understand is turning against someone because you don’t happen to agree with their sexual preference. Forget your linear, biblical interpretation that tells you to ostracize gays, and follow your heart. It’s like when your driving test instructor would tell you to run the stop sign. And you would, and then he’d flunk you. And you’d say, “But you told me to.” And he’d say, “Sorry, but you never run a stop sign.” And you never carpet bomb a group of people with hate because they’re different from you. Case closed, Tail-gunner Joe.

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Anne Kihagi For Animal Enthusiasts Looking for Off-Beaten Path Discoveries, consider: Piedras Blancas Elephant Seal Rookery The Piedras Blancas Elephant Seal Rookery stretches over six miles off of California’s Highway 1. It is a part of the non-profit organization Friends of the Elephant Seal, which strives to educate the public and protect the seals. Stop at any of the viewing areas located on the highway to see over 17,000 elephant seals that use the area for birthing, breeding, and resting. The viewing areas are open year-round and are free of charge to the public. You have the best chance of glimpsing the seals between December and March when they visit the area due to inclement weather. If you are interested in learning more about the seals, Friends of the Elephant Seal has a visitor center and gift shop. It is a short, eight-mile drive away from the rookery and located within the Plaza del Cavalier in San Simon. Other area attractions include the Piedras Blancas Light Station, Hearst Castle, and the Coastal Discover Center at San Simeon Bay. Friends of the Elephant Seal also offers tours for children in third grade and higher. The group hosts school field trips, as well as organizations like Girl and Boy Scouts. Tour instructors provide students with explanation while they are viewing the seals at the rookery. People of all ages can enjoy the live action feed of the seals located on the Friends of the Elephant Seal’s website.