Driving School

Amalia Melnic
I started driving school in Bucharest. You are. Cheers to you. Here you drive the Bucharest way. That is, more sitting in traffic than driving. You grow roots. You get old. I started off on the right foot, followed up with God knows what. First we saw the Triumphal Arch, Charles de Gaulle Square, and the other Triumphal Arches. The first night I bumped into a chick. She had a puppy in her bag. The second night, I made out with a guy, he said something about the relic. I'm seriously thinking about putting a philosophy on my car. Is there Heaven and Hell? Hop in and find out.

Florina Hegedüs
At us, in Palipalincalula, a small place between east and west, I took the psychological test with all the inhabitants. They passed. The school was called Țoiulula. They signed up for it. They did. All of them. I introduced them to driving. Under any circumstances. If they failed, they'd try again, and I didn't take a bribe. I even kept their watches and their money. To keep them from being robbed by the bad guys. I aim to settle in a big city, as an instructor, since you know, there are many who want to learn to drive their stumbled legs after I have pulled a few tens. On foot.
 
 Ana-Maria Butuza
Business has been good since the mine closed. The men went into town to look for work and when asked: what education do you have? They answered: driver's training. The school had a Dacia and only one instructor, a drunk and a bit of a grouch, but a skilled mechanic. Did he blow his spark plug? He had a spare in the trunk. He immediately checked the screw and put it back in. Did the carburettor get stuck? He was teaching his students how to clean its channels, sieve and replace the membrane. That's how Fane became the best-known instructor in the county.

(Translated by Adela Neacșu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year I / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)