Задание №23117 ЕГЭ по Английскому языку

Non-drivers in the UK

My name is Andrew, and I'm a non-operator of motor vehicles commonly referred to as cars. I have the ability to drive, but I choose not to. Perhaps I should, but I opt not to. I classify myself as a non-operator.

Considering the relatively recent introduction of automobiles to the public in terms of human history, approximately 127 years ago, driving is regarded as an inherent skill. "You don't drive?" people inquire, with a sense of curiosity. As a defensive measure, I have developed a few retorts. However, despite the bravado, I feel like an empty shell of a person.

We have become so accustomed to the notion of controlling a complex piece of machinery at high speeds that we hardly acknowledge it. You never hear someone say, "Meet my husband... he's a driver, you know!" It is only the non-operators who receive special attention. I am also a non-racist, a non-astronaut, and a non-morris dancer, but no one seems to care about any of that.

Around 80% of eligible men in the UK possess a driving license. However, there are approximately five million males, including myself, who will never chauffeur our partners home from dinner parties. Many of us choose not to do so because we find it too daunting. There is no medical term for the fear of driving, which, let's face it, is a quite rational fear, unlike, for example, balloons (globophobia) or felt (textophobia). We simply remain nameless.

Even in today's progressive era, it is acceptable for a woman to be a non-operator, but the concept of "Driving Mr. Daisy" is not embraced. Apart from individuals who hold significant power and lack the time to drive due to their involvement in writing film scripts in the back of limousines, the rest of us are expected to drive. If we don't, society raises collective eyebrows. Why is it such a big deal? It's just driving! However, car advertisements portray driving as cool, thrilling, and masculine. Few other potentially life-threatening activities are so casually and misleadingly glossed up.

I am aware that statistically, my fear is irrational, so why have I made my life so challenging? Well, I despised driving lessons, even though I passed on my first attempt. Upon hearing the news, I chuckled and said, "Are you sure?" Later, I moved from Norwich to London, where a significant number of my friends and colleagues either couldn't or chose not to drive. It wasn't an issue initially, but as the years passed, the thought of getting behind the wheel became increasingly terrifying. Scientists believe that younger men, especially teenagers, have a limited sense of mortality, and their emerging egos often strive to "cheat death" in order to gain social status. I don't think I ever possessed that mindset, and certainly not now. I have a "lust for life."

So, what is life like as a non-operator? Well, it can be socially awkward. Frequently, I feel utterly foolish. Recently, my four-year-old daughter pointed at a car being driven down the road and exclaimed, "That car was driven by a man. Men don't drive cars!" I blushed. Thank goodness I don't have a son, I thought. Another time, my wife asked me to move the family car while she quickly went into a shop, and I found myself trembling like a leaf. "I can't do it!" I muttered, accompanied by an apologetic shrug. "You'll have to shoot me."

There are, of course, some advantages. Being a non-operator means I simply don't comprehend Top Gear, which I consider to be a blessing. It also means that fuel prices, parking lots, and speed cameras don't bother me. But, honestly, I raise my hands and admit that I wish I could drive. I desire the experience of driving and the oft-mentioned freedom of the open road. I often contemplate all the things I've missed out on — the routes and journeys my life could have taken if I had relied less on tubes, buses, and taxis.