So, if you don't know (and as I haven't already mentioned it, you probably don't), I currently cannot drive a car with a manual gearbox. As I plan to rectify this situation forthwith, I thought I would give you some insight into my illustrious past with the manual gearbox:
I was seventeen the first time someone tried to teach me how to drive a manual. I'm not entirely sure how this came about; at the time, I could not have cared less about driving, or cars; not an automatic and certainly not a manual. In any case, on this particular day my dad decided that he should impart this vital life skill unto me. Just to really impress upon you how ridiculous this notion was, you must consider how I felt about cars. A feeling which I think can best be summed up as "meh." Now, you just need to know what vehicle my dear father decided would be suitable for this little outing. I would, he hoped, soon be driving his very own red 1986 Porsche 944 turbo (also known as the Porsche 951). His master plan was to teach someone, who didn't want to learn, how to drive a turbo-charged sports car. Brilliant. It went a little something like this:
8:37am:
"Waaaakey, waaakey, Kimmie-cakieees!"
"Whathmph??"
"Get up, I'm teaching you how to drive today."
"...I know how to drive."
"...you don't even have a driver's license. You cry little girl tears whenever we suggest you miss marching band to take the class."
"I have homework..."
"You never do your homework. Get up, get dressed, and for the love of God don't wear high heels. You're learning how to drive a car, not how to pick up a car driver."
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| These shoes were made for walking, and that's just what they'll do. One of these day these shoes are going to walk straight into a hotel room with a shifty man you call "John." |
As you can tell, this was sure to be a fun filled father-daughter outing. It certainly wasn't doomed from the start:
10:27am:
"Alright, now to begin you just have to start the car. Can you do that?"
"Um, duh?"... ... ..."ummm...?"
"Just put the shiny part into the round shiny bit there by the steering wheel."
"Right. What's this yellow thingy, on the black goobly bit, with all the stuff in it?"
"That's the Porsche logo."
"Oh. It's pretty."
 |
| But this one has a pony. Porsche doesn't have any ponies. |
As you can probably determine, we weren't off to the best of starts.
However, we did eventually get the car started and were ready to really
start learning:
10:42am:
"Now, this will be a little more tricky than an automatic..."
"Which I can't drive either."
"Eh, it'll be fine. This isn't hard; now, depress the clutch while keeping the same foot on the brake and giving the car a little gas. Get the rev counter up to about 1500 and then slot it into first while slowly releasing the clutch and brake."
"Umm, I only have, like, two feet. Cars only have two pedals anyway. The one that makes it go "vrooom" and the one that makes it go "EEEEEEEEE."
"What are you talking abou....no, nevermind, just look down at your feet."
"I know, I totally should get a pedicure, my feet are a mess."
"No. Just...no. Look at the pedals."
"Holy mother-of-pearl there're
three of them. Who on God's green Earth thought
that was a good idea?!"
"...this is going well."
 |
| Dear Dad, I'm not a rocket scientist. Like, seriously? Whatever. ~XOXO, 17-year old me. |
And so it went. By the end of the day I had managed to stall my Papa's precious Porsche no fewer than twenty-one times. He finally gave up trying to teach me, and I had given trying to learn before we left that morning.
We did donuts for awhile, and then headed home:
11:15am:
"I think that went well. Don't you think?"
"
...I've fathered an imbecile..."
"What?"
"I said: I've found a....side of eel?"
"Oh. Whatever. Can we go to the mall now?"
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| 21 times. We probably managed...oh, I don't know twenty, maybe even thirty feet. |
For the next five years, this was the extent of my experience with the manual gearbox. But it certainly wasn't the last time someone would get the notion to try and teach me.