It's an Automatic World

Today the bf gave me my first lesson in how to drive a stick shift. Ever since I met him I’ve been on his case about how lame stick shift cars are. They seem so ridiculous to me when most cars just do all the work for you and you can eat a burger and fries while driving with your knees.

I believe the first time I got in his car on our first date, I looked down and noticed the car was a manual and went “Oh. You drive a stick? Really? Aw, and I kinda liked you.” I decided to look past it and since then I have enduring almost a year of jerky, jolty rides around the city in the stick shift car. He insists it’s much more fun to drive and indefinitely cooler then my wimpy little automatic. He also made a big deal about the fact that everyone should know how to drive a stick in case of an “emergency situation.” The conversation went something like this:

“But what kind of emergency would I need to drive a stick in?”
“What if we’re on a road trip and I pass out and couldn’t drive?”
”No biggie, I can take a cab.”
”OK what if you have to move my car for some reason and I’m not there?”
“I’m sure whoever it is who wanted me to move your car would understand and let me leave it there, especially if I smile pretty.”
(Frustration increasing) “OK what if someone puts a gun to your head and makes you drive a stick then?!”
“I think I’d be too busy peeing in my pants to think about actually driving.”

But after a few months, I realized learning to drive a stick might be useful. Maybe I’ll put as a skill it on my resume next to my CPA and Masters degree.

So the actual lesson went pretty well. I went through a bad phase where I stalled like ten times in a row and I could feel the pressure in the car raising a little as the bf would close his eyes, take a deep breathe, and be like “OK. Let’s start it again. Clutch in, shift to first, eeeeease on the gas.” CLUNK . Another long sigh. “That’s OK. Try again.” He kept cringing as his precious little car stalled over and over, but he said I was a “gentle staller” and the transmission didn’t feel like it fell out of the engine when I stalled, so I guess that’s an accomplishment.

Once I got the hang of getting the car moving in first, I thought I would be good. But it turns out, when another car starts coming towards me in a parking lot that I thought was empty, instead of just driving normally, I tend to take my feet off all the pedals (there are so damn many of them down there) and close my eyes and squeal. So I guess I’ve got to get over that little hiccup. After about thirty minutes of various stalls and curse words, the bf decided that was enough for the day and reclaimed his driver’s seat with a relieved sigh. I think he’s at home right now petting his car and telling it everything’s OK and the mean lady won’t be driving it or hurting it ever again.

After my little lesson, I thought about how long it would take me to actually be able to drive that car on the road. So for now, if the bf ever passes out at the wheel, I’m sticking with my original plan of calling a cab home.