❓Part 2: Getting a Spanish Driver's License

Am I The Problem Here?

This week, I took a big step toward getting my Spanish driving license by signing up for the theory exam! The process comes with a hefty price tag—around 200 euros—and a long list of highly specific instructions, yet there are still glaring gaps in the registration process. Determined not to lose money to ambiguity, I asked questions before finalizing my payments: €30 in cash for the psychomotor test, €94,05 via bank transfer to the Spanish Directorate General for Traffic (DGT), and €45 by card to the driving school. I got my answers in the end—delivered, of course, with the now all-too-familiar air of condescension.

The first few times I got that infamous are-you-seriously-asking-me-this? look in Spain, I thought, Wow, maybe I am being too American. You know—too detail-oriented, too obsessed with precision, too unwilling to just let life happen. But after a few rounds of this, I realized I wasn’t breaking the game’s unspoken rules—I was playing by them. Because Spaniards can be punitively precise when it comes to their own demands, as evidenced by my paraphrased exchange with the driving school:

"No, hija (term of endearment), *sigh*, first you book an appointment for the psychomotor test, then you bring us the test results, then pay the DGT, then pay us—couldn’t you figure that out from our cryptic bulleted text from weeks ago? Yes, *eye roll*, the psychomotor clinic takes photos, but not the ones you need for your license, so make sure to get those separately. And wear a dark shirt for the photos, even though we’re calling you while you’re en route to your appointment, okay? If you forget, you’ll have to come back another day and pay another fee. And we’re booked out for weeks, so I really hope you’re wearing a dark shirt, dear…"

But the moment you expect that same level of detail in return, you’re suddenly the crazy one.

It was a normal question, so why the side eye? | Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Living in Spain can feel like being an alien trying to decode human bureaucracy—you're given minimal instructions and then scolded for not knowing what was never explained. Even asking a simple question before handing over a small fortune can earn you raised eyebrows as if you’d just asked, “So, do humans actually need oxygen?” These reactions might make you wonder if you’re the only one not in on the secret. But take heart, my fellow question-askers: defensiveness is a universal tell. It usually means the person doesn’t know the answer, the system is a mess, or a combo of both. Asking for clarity and getting arrogance in return is like asking someone to check their rearview mirrors when they’d rather pretend blind spots don’t exist.

Speaking of rearview mirrors: did you know that cars in Spain are only required to have two? The left mirror is mandatory, but it only needs to be paired with either a center or right mirror—having all three isn’t a legal requirement. Now you’ll be spared judgment of asking if a mirror is missing from your rental car. Follow me for more useless driving trivia!

Fellow foreigners in Spain, your question isn’t the issue—assuming you’re asking for clarity, not special treatment. Spaniards are refreshingly direct but not always straightforward in their communication. If you’ve done your research and your question makes someone bristle, it’s not because you’re being difficult; it’s because they’re unprepared or the law is vague. Patience is the best tool for handling impatient behavior. You might be tempted to match the snippy energy—the sighs, the shrugs, or, my least favorite, the loud and interruptive overtalking—but stay focused on the goal: getting clarification.

The sooner you accept that being gaslit is the cover charge for life in Spain, the more entertaining it becomes to watch people self-destruct while you sip your café con leche and calmly get your answers.

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Part 1: Getting a Spanish Driver’s License

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Part 3: Getting a Spanish Driver’s License

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