STREET LEGAL, AT LONG LAST

       Life Lesson number three: Good things come in small denominations. How many life experiences can one learn in one day? Surely two is already one too many, but little do I know I'm about to learn a third.
       ‘‘ It does make you wonder just how many drivers out there put a purple note into the short fat man’s hand to earn their right to speed, kill, maim and drink-drive on the streets of Bangkok.
       I didn't come here to learn truisms about my very existence. I just want to drive on the damned roads with my new company car. Instead, the whole fiasco is turning into a dreary chapter out of Zen and the Art of Motorcar Maintenance.
       "Do you need a hand?" a short fat man asks me, jolting me out of my daydreams as I approached the testing centre.
       "Sorry?"
       "Do you need some help in passing the driving test? 500 baht ensures you will pass," he says softly yet earnestly.
       The implication of his words goes right over my head. "Thank you but no. I've already been driving for nearly 10 years. I know how to drive."
       The short fat man disappears as quickly as he manifested himself. I continue on my merry path to the driving test area towards the back of the grounds.
       And what's this? A temple fair? It's as if the testing centre has been thrown a challenge: Construct a cute little road far removed from the reality of Bangkok streets as you possibly can. Not 200 metres away, the cacophony of Sukhumvit Road roars and turns itself inside out with the clanging and charging of maniacs zipping in and out between lanes at breakneck speeds. I'd assumed I'd be joining that madhouse on wheels as part of my driving test.
       Not so. Here out the back is a gorgeous little road with a mini stop sign, a cute little bridge and all sorts of other replicas of things that would not seem out of place on the set of the Teletubbies. The city with the world's worst traffic jams makes you do your driving test on a carriageway I fully expect to see adorned with chocolate trees and flowers made out of cupcakes topped with hundreds and thousands, while nursery rhymes seep out of gaily-coloured loudspeakers.
       If this is all I have to do, then the driving test is a piece of cake.
       There is a wizened old driving instructor sitting at an equally wizened old wooden table in a cement office. He is an unhappy looking fellow, and he scowls as he takes my application form. "Get your car and bring it around to the start of the road," he says in Thai. English translation: "I hate farangs."
       Another official explains that I have to drive around at a very slow speed, stop at a stop sign, cross the bridge, and then park no more than two metres from the kerb. I could have done the whole thing with a blindfold, and within minutes I am happily chugging through the course singing Chitty Chitty Bang Bang to myself.
       It's all over in five minutes. I'm filled with elation that finally my dream of having a Thai driving license is becoming a reality; that soon I would be joining the ranks of legalised madmen raping and pillaging every road rule known to mankind on the streets of Bangkok. I stride confidently to the wizened old driving instructor.
       "You failed," he says in Thai. English translation: "And I really hate bald ones."
       With a flushed face, shocked and angry, I leave the driving centre with an appointment to return for my second try the following week.
       It's a very long seven days between driving tests, although the seven nights were good as I dreamed of various methods to slowly torture wizened old driving instructors. The movie Se7en starring Brad Pitt came out the year after and it reminded me of all the fantasies I'd had in that week. The official reason I'd failed was I had parked too far away from the kerb, but my Thai co-workers were unanimous in their judgement: If only I'd paid the short fat man 500 baht.
       You have to understand I had only been in Thailand five years, and I was young and foolish and still possessing the western mentality that bribery was bad. Fifteen years have passed since that day, and no doubt if it was today I'd have gladly passed him 500 baht - maybe even 600 baht - if he could guarantee I'd have my license in an hour.
       But back then I was determined not to pay, and on the morning of my new driving test I had a brainwave.
       Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.
       I arrived with the same bright smile I put on the week before. I waved away the short fat man who attempted to approach me as I walked confidently towards Khun Wizened.
       Confidently, because other than my official papers and my car, I was also carrying something else. My office photographer.
       As I started the car and drove around the course, my photographer was conspicuous in his click-click-clicks. He clicked me at the stop sign. He clicked me at the bridge.
       The wizened instructor was not happy.
       "Who are you? What are you doing?" he barked.
       "I work for a news magazine with Khun Andrew," my photographer replied. "I'm taking some pictures ... for a story."
       As I approached the kerb to park not more than two metres away, my photographer went in for the kill, standing right by the car and clicking away as if every second was yet another Kodak moment, which it wasn't, which was just as well because there was no film in the camera.
       But there was really no need. Even before I'd crossed the cute little bridge I'd passed, with a hurried angry signature of the wizened instructor on my documents.
       It took a lot of sweat, patience, confusion and wasted energy to get my license all those years ago. In all fairness, the system has changed a lot since then. Gone is the motorcycle taxi driver doubling as a doctor. The test papers have been cleaned up and translated into readable English. The wizened media-shy instructor is long-since retired, and one can only hope the short fat man learned about Jenny Craig and found a nice pair of pumps.
       Instead is a far more streamlined clean process in place, as I witnessed earlier this month when I went back to renew my license.
       And while it would have been nice to buy my license for 500 baht, it does make you wonder just how many drivers out there put a purple note into the short fat man's hand to earn their right to speed, kill, maim and drink-drive on the streets of Bangkok with as little effort as possible.
       Oh no. I guess that constitutes Life Lesson Number four. Way too much for one day! No more preaching - enjoy your Sunday.