A Comedy of Errors

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"What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us." -Morrow
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"Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile." -F.P. Jones

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2008-02-29
proof that i shouldn't be allowed to drive

18:04

Happy Leap Year!

A bunch of us went ice skating for my birthday, organized by Becca, who ended up not being able to come because of work (she met us for dinner afterwards). So, it was Byron and I, and he kindly offered for us to take his car and that I could drive it. Byron has a cherry-red, six-speed Honda Accord coupe that I absolutely adore; of course I said yes. He only had my word that I knew what I was doing, and it's a good thing he believed me because, at first, I didn't demonstrate any driving skill at all. I sat down in the driver's seat and stared blankly at the three pedals on the floor. Three? What am I supposed to do with THREE pedals? Something certainly didn't seem right.

Trying to remain nonchalant, I coasted backwards out of the driveway while I frantically tried to remember how to drive a stick. Somehow, I managed to put the car in first, using only my right foot for both the gas and the clutch. I am still not sure how I accomplished that without stalling. Byron's only remark was, "Um, you should probably use your left foot for the clutch," instead of, "Let me drive the car before you drop the transmission", which would have been perfectly understandable.

You would never guess that I learned to drive a manual over ten years ago, used one as my everyday car for the better part of those ten years, and saw a good portion of Western Europe from behind the wheel of one.

After I remembered that I had a left foot, and that it was okay to use it, I didn't do half bad. It wasn't the smoothest ride I've ever done, but I didn't stall at all. And wow, once I remembered what the heck I was doing, was it a fun car to drive. Still, it's a wonder that Byron's told me that I'm welcome to drive his car whenever he leaves it at the house. Which led to the following conversation between Becca and I earlier this week:

"You can take my car to the airport, if you want."

"Thanks, but that's okay; we'll take Byron's car."

"Well, mine gets better gas mileage for such a long trip. Leave his here for the weekend."

"You just want to drive it, don't you?"

So now I have his six-speed at my disposal for the weekend, while my poor, neglected Prius is sitting in a parking lot at IAH.

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