Stick shift, kiss it

I am throwing in the towel on learning how to drive a standard. It’s just not for me. I tried twice, and just today, as I stalled trying to move from a stop sign on a hill, came to the firm conclusion that it isn’t worth it. Not that bad, you say? It’s all a part of the learning process, you say? Wait. It gets better.

As I tried to talk myself through the process – push in the clutch, let off the brake, no wait, let off the clutch, give it gas, oh, stalled again, restart the engine, crap!, push in the clutch before restarting the engine to avoid death-warmed-over screeching noise, ease off the clutch again, give it gas, should be moving now, stalled again??? – a giant 18-wheeler truck pulled up behind me. Impatient, he first honked his horn, as if that would magically reveal to me the secrets of moving a standard up hill. The horn not working, he then attempted to pass me, but graciously decided to back up when he came within inches of hitting Rachel’s car. In case that wasn’t enough for one afternoon, the lovely truck driver put his 18-wheeler in park, hopped out of his truck and proceeded to yell at me. In Italian.

Completely frazzled at that point, I told Rachel to take over. She hopped out of the car and ran quickly to the driver’s side door. Too mortified to even show my face, I just slid over the cursed stick shift and hung my head, back in the passenger seat, where I belonged, and where I very well intend to stay until I find myself an automatic. I want my Honda back.