Pause to recover from the shock. Now we can proceed. My friend was in a bind today. He needed his car moved to a location a couple of miles away so I said I'd do it. And then I discovered it was a manual transmission.
I've never owned a stick-shift and haven't driven one since college. My dad had an old Ford Ranger for his business that I drove occasionally. I hated that truck because the clutch was like the brakes to the Flinstone's car [you had to practically shove your foot through the floor to work it]. Despite a 12 year hiatus, I figured it would no big deal.
I stalled it out twice before I got going. I must've looked awesome. Once I was on the road, however, I did fine. Well, except riding that clutch like it was a pony at the state fair.
I remembered why I love my automatic transmission: laziness. I'm sure driving a stick becomes second nature to those who own one, but I don't want to think any more than I have to. Two pedals and the letter "D" are just fine for me.