The summer after I graduated university, I lived with my parents for a summer before moving in with a friend the next school year. They had two cars, a 1-year old small Dodge Neon automatic and a 10-year old Ford F150 1/4 ton pickup. Standard, ugly brown, huge homemade cap on the back, I’m telling you, you could move a family of four into that thing, and no one would feel cramped.
As it happened, I worked on the other side of town from my parents. As it also happened, the truck would not fit into the parking garage on my parents’ side of town. It was decided that my dad would teach me how to drive this behemoth, so that I could use it all summer.
Of course, he’s a busy man, and we didn’t get the thing out until 7 pm, the Sunday before I started work. Farted and stalled all over hell’s half-acre for a half hour before my dad decided that it was time to go home, 'cause he wanted dinner. Figured I had learned enough of the basics to be able to drive to work the next day. :eek: Incidentally, this drive was to be through heavy rush-hour traffic. I would have to run the gauntlet of about 30 stop lights.
The next day dawned bright and early, with just enough light to show me climbing, awkward and frightened, into the truck. I didn’t have to be at work for another 3 hours, but it was an hour’s drive, and I figured I would need the extra time. After 45 minutes of cursing and struggling, I made it out of the driveway, and was on my way. Until the intersection, when I approached the stop sign. Add another 20 minutes of frantic clutching, stalling and restarting. Further add other commuters, carefully driving around the red-faced young man hopping up and down in the cab of a very large pickup, swearing so much, a sailor would blush. If they didn’t yell at me or give me the finger, they at least gave me a very wide berth.
Fast forward a bit, just let it be known that I was still an hour late for work. I had hit every red light possible on the way there. The only saving grace was that there were no hills. I had developed the habit of putting on an angry face, swearing and smacking the truck as if it were on its last legs, and it was stalling on its own, with no help from me. It wasn’t until a few years later, when I saw someone else using the same tactic that I realized I had fooled no one.
The drive home was just as bad.
By the end of the week, I was a natural.
Again, fast forward to to-day. Lady Cheek and I have recently purchased a standard little Hyundai Elantra, which she can’t drive. I’ve seriously considered just pushing her in the water, and letting her learn to swim like my dad did for me. Then I think about the fact that I’d like us to be together for our second anniversary, so I’ve decided not to.
