Driving a manual is a lot like middle school in that I can’t avoid it, and I’m convinced I suck.

Car buying happened, and I’m now the possessor of a 1997 (we prefer the term ‘vintage’ to ‘beater’) Subaru Legacy, which is awesome!

It’s a station wagon, so hauling crap is less of a thing than my sports car hatchback was! AWD?  That’s a thing adults love, right?  It’s white and boxy, I’m pale and foxy.  We were pretty much born to be together.  And: the price was right, homies.  $2500 for a working, well-maintained, low-ish mileage vehicle.  Bam.

Except.

It’s a manual transmission, and I haven’t touched a clutch in thirteen years.  And I wasn’t great at it, back then either.

 

So I’m about … oh five minutes?  From leaving the office right now, to drive to Philadelphia, during rush hour, in my manual, on stick shift: Day two.

Those are not hives, I’m just … warm and itchy.

I have been instructed to cultivate an obstinate indifference toward the aggravation of other drivers, and maybe not be so heavy on the gas pedal when I’m shifting into first.

 

I refuse to die or give up.  I am too pretty to die, and too tenacious to give up.  Bam.  Gonna do it.

 

Probably.

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Driving a manual is a lot like middle school in that I can’t avoid it, and I’m convinced I suck.

One thought on “Driving a manual is a lot like middle school in that I can’t avoid it, and I’m convinced I suck.

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