Transmission of Morals in a 78 Toyota Corolla
I had some VHS tapes to return from whence they had been rented. This action required a short drive and before I had travelled very far a blizzard started. Wind raced and snow erased, bluster and noise enveloped. An attempt to crest a small hill betwixt my home and the rental place was met with failure and a friendly chap with an impressive truck and all manner of perpetration at the nadir of the hill. We discussed my voyage and return home, late fees be damned.
“If you need to stop, use your transmission.”
“Oh yeah” I remember replying, not understanding what all of that meant. As with many things not understood, time sorts it out.
In front of the Denny’s restaurant, a large a American vehicle before me, slowed to turn, Foot, breaks and slid, with a bang into this giant car. We stop and on emerging from my car to chat with the bloke, my shoulder long hair horizontal in the wind, comfortable shorts flapping like a flag.
A short, fat man emerged from the land boat and he introduced himself with.
“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE DOING!?”
He calmed down, when on inspection, my collision only bumped some snow off his bumper. Then the friendly, prepared chap in his 4x4, pulled up behind me, leaning into the wind.
“Why didn’t you break with your transmission?”
Fraser asked for a ride to the college and I obliged, as we were passing a side entrance to the campus on the way to the main entrance, he intoned, “I meant that one.”
In a quick set of operations, I stomped the break, shifted from 3rd to 2nd while cranking my wheel over. The vehicle ground to an instant plunging halt, roaring and then squirted into the desired entrance with a clatter.
And while I was prepared for the actions that the car performed, Fraser was not, and was appropriately laminated to the passenger side door screaming.