I was in a taxi the other day and the driver and I were talking about cars. Him going on about this and that and me valiantly* trying to keep up my end of the conversation.
[Which reminds me of the time a girl I knew came to a party of ours and, being on the look out for a new special friend, tried chatting to Grumpy's mate Country Boy - he being single and eligible** and, well, breathing. I kept a bit of an eye on them. She seemed to be maintaining a bright and breezy air and Country Boy was employing his usual combination of facial expressions - entertained and stunned - so I assumed things were going pretty well. After about 40 minutes she came staggering over and said, "I've exhausted every possible thing I can say about rugby. Is there anything else he can talk about??" Unfortunately the only answer to that was: cars.]
Anyway, the taxi driver. He was asking me all about the kind of car I drive and we talked about the relative merits of the Outback versus the Forester. Then, somehow, it transpired that I drove a manual, not an automatic. At this, the taximan was indignant. Didn't I know that 9 out of 10 cars on Australian roads are automatic? What would possess me to drive a manual? Where did I get the hide? I like it, I told him. I just like changing gears and I like having control over the car via something other then the brake. He spluttered. But, but but. "But," he said, "there's so much going on when you're driving a manual. You have too much to think about."
And there, dear reader, I had him. Because as anyone who has been in a car with me behind the wheel can tell you, the last thing I do when I'm driving is think.
*Boom, boom!
** Actually, not so eligible. Country Boy tends to confine his conquests to married women. He's a bit of a dickhead.
8 comments:
Once a Brazilian man I was giving a lift to noticed my manual transmission and told me I drove quite well for a woman.
I would have kicked him out, but I think it was a compliment. Sort of. In Brazil. Maybe.
I like to think of it in this way: I will decide which gear my car is in and the terms on which it changes. In my mind I say this in a John-Howard-immigration-policy-type voice.
It's funny, because you look so much like him too!
Also! 'So much to think about'! Like what? The sat nav tells them where to go and via which route, the other thingly works out how much to charge. Some of them appear to let the talkback radio station tell them what to think too.
I know. They should follow my example and let YOU do all the thinking for them.
Heavens! I hope my immigration policy reference doesn't attract weird racists to your blog like I got when I blogged about the bombing in Glasgow that time. oo-er.
IMMIGRATION. TERRORISM. POLITICS. RELIGION. PARIS HILTON.
Thank you. I look forward to the day you have your own blog (again).
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