Trial by Fire Parenting: Episode 161: Stick shifts and douchebags

As a man, I am not afraid to admit that I have driven a stick shift exactly four times in my life. Twice while my 15-year-old fake high school girlfriend's fat, mustached dad was attempting to teach her (and by default, me) to drive one weekend. Once while screwing around with some metal/skateboarding kids I kind of thought were my friends in high school and once while attempting to drive a drunk friend's car home in college.

Three out of the four experiences, minus the one time with the kids who listened to Slipknot, went fairly well. After a few stalls I eventually got the hang of it and managed to nurse the car around with minimal transmission damage. From these experiences I learned three things. 1. I did not like driving with two feet. 2. Driving a stick is more work than it needs to be and 3. It is really only cool if you are driving a race car. Stopping and starting and shifting and clutching and rolling backwards is actually kind of annoying if you are just planning on getting over to the Target for an 8-pack of toilet paper and some batteries.

It was also around this time that I learned that primary category of people who own stick shifts are douchebags. Or cocks. Or meat sticks. Or Chooches. Or whatever term the natives in your parts use to describe some gym rat, tattooed "dude guy" who scores tail with his Honda Prelude and listens to either neu metal or popular hip hop. You know, guys who buy Toyotas or Subarus and add after stock spoilers that look like shopping cart handles, or decal kits or those little blue LED lights that make the bottom of the car light up.

When I was in high school these kids used to hang out in front of the Advanced Auto Parts (Or Double-A-P as they called it. Yes, that is a real story) and smoke cigarettes and compare aftermarket parts. As I have grown older and become an adult, these people are now insurance salesmen or construction workers or pizza delivery guys or whatever else they decided to do after their hairlines started to recede,

and they don't show off their cars much. Many of them buy more expensive European stick shifts if they have the money, others pimp out Chevy Cobalts and pretend that it isn't just a Cavalier with a jazzy new name (which is actually a color named after an element, sooooo, your 'Cobalt' probably shouldn't be orange). They still date tan girls from the gym or hairstylists or the occasional 'used to be ugly and puts out easily now that she is a little hotter' banker type chick, and deep down, they still want to cruise the streets of their hometowns trying to impress, well, other idiots from their high school, but they don't. Instead they just rev their engines at stop lights and rock backwards when they start their cars. Most of them still think Jay Z is cool though. That doesn't change.

It is important to note here that I have an affinity for both sweet looking street cars and race cars. As a teenager I drove a Nissan 240 SX and a bright yellow Hyundai Tiburon. Both had all of their stock parts, though, and neither was a stick shift. I also got rid of both of them due to impracticality. I love cars. If I had the finances I would buy a very nice car. Maybe a Mercedes, or a Cadillac or a BMW. But I wouldn't be a dick about it. I think it is actually the sound of the revving stick-shift engine, which sounds so cool when coming out of a race car, that actually increases a person's douchebag meter when they are driving on a residential street.

Where am I going with this? What sparked this? I'm not really sure. I think it was an experience that I had last night, which actually proved everything that I just wrote completely wrong.

Because I drive a modest,silver, four door, American made family sedan, I have occasional car troubles. Lately, it has been my battery not being able to handle the cold weather. Whenever the temperature drops below freezing it won't start. Just 'click click click.' I have had to call AAA three times this winter. And it has been unseasonably warm.

*On a side note, I'd like to point out here how absolutely incompetent AAA can be. It is a great service that everyone should have but, damn, am I on a cold streak. All three times I've had to call AAA this season I've had the same Spanish kid come to jump my car. The first time, he runs his little 'battery test' and tells me my battery still has all of its life. The second time, he runs the same test, tells me the same thing and says all I have to do is make sure all of my accessories are off before trying to start my car (yeah, cuz everyone with a healthy battery has to do that, right?) The last time the dumb little shit doesn't even run a test, tells me it is my starter and sends me to a mechanic. The mechanic's exact quote, after my car started three straight times without aid in his garage was "Well, there isn't anything wrong with your car, you probably just have an old battery." Cool test, AAA. Cool fucking test. I could have told you that the first time. Thanks for wasting, my time... I digress.

Anyway, yesterday the temperature dropped to a miserable 22 degrees in the afternoon. My car just barely started when I left for work and I knew right away that I was going to need a jump to get home. But I will be dammed if I was calling up that little tow truck idiot again so I asked a girl at work who I knew had a car (which is an extreme rarity in the restaurant industry) to please jump me before I left. She handed me her keys and said 'Let me know if you have any questions, my car is kind of weird.' How weird can it be? It is a Chevy. Besides, a battery is a battery, right? After 15 minutes in sub-freezing temperatures at 1 in the morning trying to locate her damn battery, I had to consult her owners manual.

Turns out that her new aged car actually has two batteries, but neither one of them are normal batteries, they are 'no maintenance' batteries, which apparently is code for 'you can't jump your friend's car because one of us is buried in the undercarriage of your car and the other one only has a positive charge.' The manual actually said that if the battery dies, in order to jump it with another car the batteries had to be the same, low voltage and grounded by a piece of long, unpainted metal. In other words, if I tried to jump my car with her fancy battery there is a good chance one or both of the vehicles, and possibly myself, could have burst in to flames. All in the name of saving energy. C'MON! Sure, great, this probably saves an iceberg somewhere or preserves gas or something crunchy and stupid, but dammit, it screwed me over last night.

The girl felt bad and didn't want me to wait for AAA, so she called her boyfriend to come give me a jump. Now, among the most demoralizing moments in a man's life, having some chick you barely know call her boyfriend that you have never met to come jump your car in 10 degree weather is right near the top. The only thing worse would have been if I asked him to change my tire while he was there.

I waited for this kid for a bit, freezing my ass off, until I heard the rev of a douchebag engine rumbling down the street. "Oh, great," I said. "Of course this gym rat girl has a stick shift boyfriend." As he Tokyo drifted in to the parking lot I could hear the bass bumping from his Nissan Sentra. It was too dark to notice aftermarket parts.

Fearing one of those fantastic meat stick interactions, I gave him a 'dude' head nod and attached my trusty, rusty jumper cables to his engine. As it turns out, this guy happened to be a pretty nice dude. He spoke intelligently, didn't judge me for needing to have my vehicle serviced and carried on a friendly, cordial conversation.

See. Not all stick shift gym guys are douchebags. I admit my mistake. Now it is off to Pep Boys to get raped on a new battery installation. The only place cheaper is AAA and I'd rather spend an extra $20 than have that dumb teenager try and replace my battery. He'll probably tell me I need a new transmission.