He told me to drive into the garage to a designated spot. I did, and got out. He ordered me back in. I got back in. He instructed me to get out. I did, closing the door. Wrong again. He hadn’t said to close the door. I opened it. He told me to stand on a blue mat. I did. He gave another order. I didn’t understand. He gave it again. I was still puzzled. Finally, he said, “DRIVE. IT. DOWN. TO. THE. DOOR.” I did. Another man threw a paper at me. All I saw was the word PASSED.
Bobby Jones retired from a 38-year career in medical education. He now writes poetry and creative non-fiction, while trying to make sense of the world from his home in Washington, DC.