So yesterday after devotions it fell upon your humble scribe to assist his middle child, herself aged 16, in the preparation of employment applications. The choices ran to Peet’s, a coffee shop you may have heard of, and Starbucks, another vendor of caffeinated beverages about which you may have heard mention.
Starbucks is the less preferred option it appears, not merely because it is closer and therefore more convenient to our humble abode, but also because it is, you know: Corporate. Your correspondent had the temerity to point out that, in conformance to the regulating principles along which our economic system is generally ordered, businesses ought to reap the benefits of providing the market what it desires at a favorable price point. That they succeed in other words, largely by doing things well. He also went on to state that Starbucks is one of those few enterprises in its segment that has chosen to provide even part-time employees with non-salary benefits as well as pursue “fair pay” options for developing country suppliers, proving that it is possible to do good while also doing well.
“Peets, pops,” came the reply, to which of course there was no rebuttal.
We dropped off apps at both sites, and on the way back our lodgings I asked whether it wouldn’t be a good idea for us to stop of at the local high school for to practice the act of automotive perambulation in the parking lot. Herself having recently won the privileges attaching to a learner’s permit in the state of California, but not as yet having the requisite months of experience and formal instruction to obtain a license to operate an autovoiture tout seul, like. And an alarm softly clanging in the back of your correspondent’s skull at the notion of having to transport a non-licensed adolescent to her place of employment until such time as the aforementioned license might plausibly be acquired.
Especially when the place of employment survives chiefly upon the early-morning sales of caffeine-based stimulants. And in the full knowledge that the lady of the house, whatever else her virtues, does not list “early riser” among them.
Feel me?
You, gentle reader, might have questioned the wisdom of introducing a teenager to the automotive experience in a BWM 330i, sporty little beast that it is and that too with a manual transmission. And I wish you would have mentioned your concerns before Sunday, because before the day was out we had managed to burn about six months worth of clutch life, two months worth of starter time, repeatedly test the engine overspeed governor and leave a lovely set of max performance braking skidmarks.
On a sidewalk.
Just feet in front of a stoutly constructed fence.
Forty-five minutes or so of this was all that my heart could stand and truth be told she was starting to get the hang of it – so long as peeling out in second gear in a school parking counts as “getting the hang” for a novice driver – so I took the tiller and returned the both of us home, a fixed smile plastered to my face and offering many happy reassurances. Well done. Good job. Best ever.
Been through this once before. Will have one more to go through when this one is done.
Might just make it.
Ahh, the joys of instructing a youth on the intracasies of keeping a car between the ditches… I’ve never had the priviledge. But, I did train several young men (not too far removed form the whole learners permit thing themselves) on how to keep a tractor trailer between the lines… loaded to 80,000 lbs, in the middle of the night, in the snow, and going down hill. Funny thing that… some say I haven’t been right in the head since.
Jim C
You had all my deepest sympathies right up to the part about having to transport her to the place of employment. Why, pray tell, is the young lady not able to manage to ferry herself to said aforementioned place without wheels of transport…unless it’s a bicycle?
I, too, had the requisite learner’s permit at 16, like us all, a job, like us all, and had to wait, like us all, ’til I had attained enough driving experience (including the joys of a Cdn. winter), yet the keys to freedom were not handed over for travelling to and from the job.
Tsk, tsk, tsk, sir. This conceeding to teenagers will, no doubt, be remembered and filed away for future reference by one and all of your brood, and their plan of attack will arrive when neither you ‘nor your wife (I’m sorry, but I just am not able to bring myself to say “the Hobbit”) are at attention on your watch. Be prepared and make certain that the two guards man their posts at all times.
Veritas et Fidelis Semper
I learned how to drive in a school parking lot in a VW Diesel Rabbit… a perfect car for it. Forgiving clutch and I don’t think it’s possible to burn rubber on one.
But whatever you do, make sure she continues to learn on a stick shift.
I remember my father teaching me how to drive on a Datsun short bed manual truck that my best friend and I affectionatly called the “Rustang”. He always showed patience and forgiveness during that process. That right of passage is one that you never forget.
I went through this with Dear Daughter not long ago. First the driving part with an automatic, then, after totaling the automatic several months down the road, the clutch and shift part in the new ride. The thing that really seems to get the light to come on is to have her let out the clutch, slowly, without giving it any gas, until it just begins to engage, then stop letting it out. Then give it some gas and ease it out the rest of the way. Once we hit on that it seemed pretty easy.
I gotta start. I’m a lousy teacher and never done a RAG/TRACOM tour. Mine just turned 15.
Cantcha just pay someone?
b2
As the Designated Driving Instructor for my rather large Clan, I, to paraphrase WJC, Feel Your Pain. Vehicle of choice, 1968 Ford 1/2 ton Van, Mid engined, Three on the tree, Excellent Visibility with no annoying distractions such as air conditioning and radio.
The training arena, consists of the parking lot of the local School District’s Athletic Complex,conveniently laid out for training said School District’s Bus Drivers.
The tally so far? 6 Sisters, 25 Nephews, 18 Nieces, and along with Jim in comment #1 ,18 Class A CDL trainees here in the states, and 5 on the Mean streets of Iraq.
But Hey, Somebody Has to do it.
Oy. My dad tried to teach me the fine art of manual shifting in his BMW 320i back in 1981. It wasn’t in a school parking lot and there was no fence. It was in our driveway and it was a garage door. One half-lesson from dear dad and it was enough for him to pack it in and call it a day. Drove an automatic until I tested the bonds of matrimony by having The Hubby teach me on his Datsun 310. We’ve been married for nearly 24 years, so something worked out OK there.
Sympathies Lex, especially with one more daughter to teach after The Biscuit. Woodford’s anyone?
Ah, poor brave Sir Lex. Stout heart, my good man. Of course, when I was learning to drive my ’80 VW Rabbit the bushings for 1st and 2nd crapped out and I had to learn to get the pig moving anyway. Was not easy or fun.
Actually, I think stick is how people should learn to drive. There’s just something about having done so that typically makes one a better driver. I think you just get a better feel for the beastie. If you can’t drive stick there’s no way you can convince me you can chat on the cell and drive safely.
As for why not ride a bike to work? ‘Nobody walks in LA.’ I know SD is not LA, but the same logic applies.
Also, So Cal drivers aren’t real ammenable to sharing the road with cyclists. My right arm and leg have some good ‘road rash’ as evidence of this trend. Lord, it’s 100x easier to ride a bike in Indiana then it ever was in So Cal, even on the freeway.
You’re a better man, than I am, Gunga Din.
God bless you for a.) teaching her in the first place (my father wouldn’t touch that prospect with a 10-foot pole) and b.) teaching her how to drive a stick.
But seriously? On the 330? Is there not an old Buick you could have taught her on? Just thinking about the griding of those gears makes my head hurt!
Well, Lex. Live and learn. And she shall learn. As strange as it seems with a husband who was a flight instructor, I was the designated parent for driver training. For both SNO and DNO, plus teaching their best friend how to drive a stick. Nearly had whilpash by the end of the first trial with both girls in the Nazarene Church parking lot (you know, the largest in town).
SNO and I went to a smaller parking lot and practiced a lot of just listening to the engine and feeling the slight change in tones as he released the clutch as slowly as possible. It took a while, but he finally heard what I wanted him to hear and then to apply just enough gas to keep from killing the engine that he was ready to go on streets. And face on-coming traffic. Yikes.
My biggest problem with him was getting him to listen to me when he was driving. I let him drive to pick up sister at the junior high school at 9 pm one night and as we were leaving, he just slowed at the exit instead of stopping. I told him to stop. Said it louder; then louder still. I said STOP until I was screaming as loudly as I could — and he was still crawling into the street, with a car coming toward us. He finally saw the car and slammed on the brakes.
I was still screaming, having lost the battle of staying calm, and said, “WHEN SOMEONE SAYS STOP — YOU STOP! Doesn’t mean slow down; doesn’t mean only if you see what they see; it means STOP.” Got home and told Husband, and the jerk laughed. Feh on him.
However, about two weeks later SNO and I were leaving McDonalds, and I was in our large Dogde RAM trying to cross two lanes of traffic to get to the center lane. I had it all set and started to step on the gas, but forgot about the car right in front of me, when SNO yelled WAIT. I slammed on the brakes, not having moved more than an inch or two. Then I calmly turned to him and said, “Now see, when you said to stop, I stopped. I didn’t ask why. I didn’t say how come. I just stopped. Didn’t I?” He allowed as I had.
Whew. Finally I made my point. Graphically too.
Of course. This is the same son that Husband and I saw driving past us with both hands out the window yelling his head off and friends in the car with him. Got grounded for that one.
Oops, I should clarify comment number one a little… I didn’t train them all at once… one at a time, and we literally were rolling loaded down hill in the snow in the middle of the night soemtimes.
Jim C
I am trying to teach my significant other to drive. I say trying to teach, as it is difficult to teach someone who has nothing to learn *rolls eyes*.
P-3W – I feel your pain. There is nothing worse than telling someone you are instructing to do something RIGHT NOW, and having your student engage you in the merits of your request.
I have made a point of driving around with my hand curled around the handbrake, but when the time comes for me to yank the bugger, and oft is that opportunity, I’m always frozen in fear. Before this I never really knew the meaning of the term ‘pucker factor.’
Dang unkawill, where were you when I needed you? B2, hire unkawill! I was the designated teacher at our house, too, taught both of mine in a 1963 VW Beetle. Of course, I managed to tell them 40 or 50 times that I didn’t have the option of automatic or stick and how lucky they were to have turn signals when I had to use my arm… and how lucky to have a starter when I had driven cars where one had to touch two wires together, one foot on the clutch, one on the brakes and a baby lying in the front seat… Didn’t take them a bit long to learn just so they didn’t have to listen to all that crap.
Oh, the memories. Daddy was the more patient of my two parents, so he got stuck with the duty of teaching all of us to drive. I have a feeling that I was his toughest assignment, but he never yelled, always corrected gently and praised when I managed to do it right. As I recall, we spent a LOT of time practicing in a giant empty parking lot before I was allowed out on the street.
Unkawill, you truly deserve a medal!
Now y’all know why there is a special corner of the O’Club bar for IP’s on TRACOM NAS’s.
Thanks, Kristan and MBL,I actually enjoy teaching, I don’t get excited too often when things get out of control.
I am currently teaching my 17 year old niece, Helen, on the same Vehicle, the beauty of which is a totally open front floor board, so I can reach the brake pedal and the Ignition switch is on the dash, for easy access.
At least when I was training OTR drivers, they all had been Licenced drivers for a few years and recent graduates of Truck Driving Schools.
They just weren’t real comfortable with the big rigs yet.
After a couple of months of seasoning and certification, we would send them out in thier own rig’s.
I tried teaching My Good Wife to drive my automobile. Really, I did. I tried for about 15 minutes after which my nerves were shot and I was in peril of endangering our marriage.
I bought a friend a case of beer, to be awarded when his new student could drive my (just then aquired) second car up a nearby hill, he could switch off the ignition, and she could restart and resume forward motion without smoking the clutch.
That was the cheapest driving lesson ever. Only cost me a case of beer and a ’74 Gremlin, or about $20 in all.
Trust me, Lex — this is what you have friends for, and why there are ’74 Gremlins.
– Max
Lex,
I’m looking forward to sharing the wonder. I’m standing in for a lot of people today plus the idjits dug up the watermain to the building this morning so this was my first hit at the unbearable lightness…
I have a brother-in-law who, with my sister and baby nephew, moved in at Ocean Ave, in your town, not too far away from you. He too, is a purist and a linguist and a deep thinker. And, like your DNO, prefers Peets and dutifully climbed, each day, onto his bicycle and road it up that bloody hill to the uni and then a wee bit further to said Peets since it was, almost, on a direct line to his job at UCSD.
Just think of all the good exercise and excitement in her life if she cycles to work… It’s the ride down that bloody hill I’m thinking of. You can hit 60 or 70 mph on a bike… Better than flying jets!
On the other hand, there’s Starbucks and where is the thrill?
First stick shift lesson: driving an open-bed slat-sided pig truck. Complete with pigs. And a crawler gear. ‘Twas a skill quickly mastered, as pigs do not appreciate jolting stops (or starts) and express their opinions on said jolting from both ends…
And yes, for those who have never have the experience of driving a pig truck, one does indeed, even inside the cab, fully experience the resulting bouquet.
*gack!*
Just wait, soon she will want to learn how to drive the motorcycle.
That in my opnion should be done by professionals and not IP’s.
Holy horse manure…I just about pooped myself reading that I was laughing so hard. I taught my wife how to drive and still fondly recall the 2 mailboxes, and shrubs that she exterminated with extreme prejudice at the end of our driveway!
Oh Lex, store up these treasures in your heart. This is a precious time that your daughter will remember forever. I got my driver’s license in 1966 in Texas, back when they let 14-year-old girls (and boys) drive legally! (Mercy! what was the state thinking?)
But my father died early that summer before I started driver’s ed, and after I completed the driver’s education course and passed the test with a gray-uniformed, gray-haired DPS trooper, I went home and claimed my father’s 1960 Ford F-150, three speed on the column.
I taught myself to drive that humble beast of burden and I’m sure my father could hear me grinding the gears all the way to heaven. We lived on a street with a steep rise, where you had to pull out onto the main highway. The only way I could get up the short steep incline was to race the engine and let the clutch out very, very slowly. I can hear all you men now, muttering under your breath. I said I taught myself
The first time my husband rode with me driving his standard shift, I thought he was going to have a heart attack. Because I still raced the motor and let the clutch out very, very slowly
Oh yeah, I remember learning so well. I was also 14 (farmer’s daughter, too, you know) and was driving a grain truck in the fields, lining up between the combine’s tire tracks and practicing shifting — having to double-clutch that sucker, too. Got pretty good, and even into third gear.
Of course, I also remember driving my dad’s pickup for the first time on the streets with him — had so much adrenaline pumping that I slammed that thing into reverse instead of first and rolled into the car behind us. I was trying so hard not to cry, and then he made me keep driving the 15 miles to the fields. When we got home and in the driveway, he had me put it into reverse. It took both hands to do it. Whew. I knew I was nervous, but wow.
Also remember driving up a steep hill in his pickup, thinking I have to shift into third. Of couse, I stalled and rolled into the ditch and got barbed wire wrapped aroung the tailpipe (don’t ask me how). He asked what happened and I told him I was shifting into third when it died. He said he never got out of second on that hill. Then the lightbulb went off in my poor little brain — you mean you don’t have to shift??? Enlightening, that was. Made driving a lot easier, too.