Courtesy Shuttle to Harrah's

How have I managed to go eighteen years without learning how to drive a stick? I have been trolling Craig’s List for the past few days, searching for a replacement for my trusty Honda, and am discovering that, goddamnit, my choices are severely limited when my only option is an automatic. Or as I like to call them, the multi-taskers.

Growing up, we owned several family-type cars, mostly station wagons and vans. Made with the family in mind, our cars were not for the single-girl-or-guy-about-town commercials often showed, zipping down curvy highways, smiling and laughing, all the while shifting smoothly into high gear.

Instead, our cars were marketed for fathers who needed an occasional hand to yank a kid back into the car as they stuck half their body out the window, pretending to be a dog. Or, moms who’d chuck mini-juice boxes behind her with one hand, shove a Chicken McNugget into the mouth of a picky five-year old with the other while still managing to make that next left, turning the wheel with her knee.

When I was growing up, we owned a commercial van, pre-mini-van era. It was a white, very plain, no-nonsense van, not the mini-vans you see today, decked out with luxury features like individual video screens and audio jacks, and (oooh!) cup holders. This van could easily seat fifteen adults or my entire sixth grade volleyball team. When my whole family traveled in it, I imagine we looked like orphaned Asian girls, sponsored by a Christian group, on our way to Disneyland with money raised from charitable donations and bake sales. Once, on a family outing to Reno (“The Biggest Little City in the World”), looking a little older and a little less “Save-the-Children”, a woman stopped us at a red light and asked if we were the courtesy shuttle to Harrah’s.

Don’t get me wrong, there are definitely advantages to driving an automatic. It’s perfect for a lazy driver (like me) who’d rather devote her higher functioning skills to programming radio stations or eating a salad versus worrying about that extra pedal down there, the clutch, I think. My friends with stick shifts swear by them! They would often say their cars are “so much fun to drive!” immediately after making a vroom-vroom sound with their mouths and miming kickin' it into high gear.

Sadly, I can’t relate. My trusty Honda was fuel-efficient, solid, very reliable, but never fun. And I could use a little fun right now. So, I have two action items on the docket in the next few weeks. One: Buy a car. And two: Learn how to drive it.