The Saga of the Toyota Starlight

I get excited about some very strange things, something made very apparent to me by the expressions of others around me when I share said excitement. Okay, I suppose I understand when others don't share in my exuberance over things like kale, going to bed at 9, reading the newspaper, and anything involving Ed Sheeran. Just like those things, I thought my enthusiasm about my new found ability to drive on the left side of the road in a car with a manual transmission was something I could share with others. I was wrong.

First, some background information. I was pretty anxious about the idea of driving a stick-shift, since I hadn't in about a year, and even more so about driving one on the left side of the road in New Zealand. However, my desire to have personal transportation trumped my anxieties, so I mercilessly obliterated them, repeated the Nike motto, "just do it," and got in the driver's seat of my friend's 1986 Toyota Starlet. It is truly a marvel to behold; tiny and blue, dents and dings throughout including a gash in the door that looks like it hit the iceberg from Titanic. Yet, in all honesty, I'd never want it looking any different. Every scratch or mark gives the metal box that much more character. I certainly respect it- it is quite a bit older than I am, after all.

The same model as the car I've been using here

I was nervous for my first lesson. The only time I have ever driven on the left side of the road was in a fancy, automatic vehicle many years the Toyota Starlet's junior. So, when Jim (my friend in New Zealand lending me the car) told me it was time, I began to clam up. I imagined we would just be driving in circles around the block. At least, I figured we would have a couple of gos at me starting and stopping since it was my first time in a long time using a manual transmission. However, driving stick came back to me much like riding a bike, as the saying goes. Shifting gears, even with my left hand, felt completely natural- the only thing it took a bit to adjust to was the lack of a 5th gear. I also had to learn about a mysterious new addition to the car- the choke. I still am not completely sure what it is, but I do know how to use it now. Pull it out to start the car, push it in once the car has been running for a bit.

Anyways, after just one lesson, I felt relatively comfortable driving the New Zealand roads in the wee car (as they would say here). Of course, I did make some mistakes- I often hit the windshield wipers instead of the turn signal, and I often drove too close to the left side of the road. The next day, I was still a bit nervous about taking roundabouts in a different direction and taking right turns, but I decided there was no better way than to just practice. So, I ventured out on my own and drove to the gym.

When I made it there without incident, I was beaming with pride, just like the mother of an honors student as she slaps a bumper sticker letting the whole world know of her child's academic achievements onto her car. I felt the need to share this excitement with someone, ANYONE. Yet as I went there alone, I decided to tell a stranger- the receptionist at the gym. As I told her how proud I was of my left-hand driving success, her eyes glazed over with complete disinterest, as if my voice were the same as the PA system lady from Charlie Brown.

Gym Lady: Huh. You don't say. Do you want to visit the sauna or thy gym?
Me (feeling slightly crushed): oh... both, I guess...
Gym Lady (without an ounce of expression whatsoever): Yeah, treat yourself...

Ugh! I was so frustrated! How dare she not share in the enthusiasm of a complete stranger who just mastered her country's bizarre driving differences to which the aforementioned stranger is not accustomed!

Whatever, I sweated out my anger which she instilled in me while "treating myself" in the sauna.

I hope you all have enough stamina to read this next story about the Starlet. I was going to make it a separate post, but then I decided to just go ahead and include it.

One of the most exciting aspects of driving such an old and well-loved car is that I never really know if it is going to start, or just rumble a bit and totally crap out. This morning as we were about to head into town, it was the latter. As I heard the devastating sound that goes with a dead battery as the car tried, tried and failed, I felt crushed. Well, it looked like I'd be spending the day at home.

However, Jim's son, Nic, was thankfully home and came outside right as we were going to give up. "Has it gone flat?" he asked. I assumed that was an expression for "has the battery died" (a post to come later about strange New Zealand terminology,) and nodded, looking defeated. "Let's try a push start!" he offered. Well, I was basically up for anything. Whatever that was, I was willing to give it a shot. He gave us instructions- he and Alex would push the car, and as I was rolling down the hill, I would quickly take my foot off the clutch and simultaneously push on the accelerator which would, theoretically, start the car and enable me to put it in gear and head on my merry way.

I was nervous, but ready. The guys gave me a push, and I was off. The car sped up, and then came the moment of truth- I needed to time it perfectly. I took a deep breath, dropped the clutch, and pushed the accelerator and lo and behold, she started! Woo!

It's only been a week since I began driving that lovely car, and I've already learned more about vehicles than I probably ever have in my life. I can only imagine how this next week will go!

Laugh at Yourself (Part 2)

Another one of those charming moments in life that is horrible as it happens but funny at a later point happened to me this morning. Pride engulfed me, however, when I found that I was able to laugh at the absurdity of the situation even in the midst of its occurrence.

This morning, I woke up at the butt crack of dawn as I spent the night in Maryland and needed to high tail it to work early in hopes of beating the dreaded D.C. beltway traffic. I arrived a bit before 7:00 at the metro parking garage in as decent a mood as one can be running off so little sleep. I relished the idea of so much leisure time before work- I envisioned myself sitting in a café and reading the paper in preparation for a Monday of work.

This fantasy of a calm and relaxing morning came to a careening halt within mere seconds, however. As I descended the stairs of the parking garage, I realized that my absentmindedness brought on by lack of sleep caused me to forget to change shoes. Unfortunately, flip flops are not exactly work attire, so I dashed back up the stairs to my car to change shoes.

To understand this anecdote completely, I need to share some background information. Until recently, the automatic lock feature functioned on all four doors of my car. Recently, however, the one on the driver’s door stopped working when I tried to lock it from the outside by pushing the button on my key. I quickly adapted to this minor inconvenience, however, and began locking it from the inside once parked. That non-functional automatic lock really screwed me over this morning.

Okay, time to backtrack. Once I arrived at my car to change shoes, I popped the trunk but was dissatisfied with my footwear options. I remembered that the perfect pair for my outfit (wow, I just sounded so girly I can’t stand it) was in the passenger’s seat. Since the only way I can get into the car is to manually unlock the driver’s door, I did so, quickly grabbed the shoes, locked the door from the inside, as is now habit, and slammed the door shut. Then, I turned around and what did I see on the driver’s seat? Yes. My freakin’ keys. 

I should have just worn the flip flops to work. 

Yes, I do have three sets of keys to my car. Guess where set number two was? I am almost too embarrassed to admit this- in the center console. And the third? At the apartment, of course.

My heart jolted with hope when I remembered that I left the trunk open. I figured I could just push the seats forward or crawl through the little compartment into the main part of the car. What actually happened is I spent about 45 minutes looking like a total idiot hanging part way out of the trunk trying to use random objects in the trunk to unlock one of the rear doors.

The middle compartment was marginally too small for my whole body to fit through- the best I could do was squeeze my head and one arm through it. My first attempt to infiltrate the car was to try and push the back seats forward. After much struggle, I managed to undo the three latches securing the seats in the upright position. Yet even so, the seats wouldn’t budge. I looked through the back window to investigate.

This world is full of dark humor sometimes. The only way to get the seats down is with, you guessed it, the key. So plan B commenced with my using a strange metal object I found by the spare tire in the trunk to try and reach the lock in the back and push it up. Naturally, it was about an inch too short, so I tried to attach it to a pen in sheer desperation and to a few other objects I could find. Well, it turns out I couldn’t MacGyver myself out of that situation, so I finally caved and called AAA. If I had known from the get-go that AAA services are free, I would have called them prior to my prolonged display of idiocy.

One thing I found slightly discouraging was that not a single person offered to help me, and at least 15 to 20 cars drove by (it’s a popular garage). I mean, was not a single person concerned that there were legs clearly dangling out the back of a trunk? Maybe in their positions I would not have stopped either.

Let me conclude by saying that I am madly in love with AAA. The representative with whom I spoke was a super nice lady, and didn't even make fun of me when I offered to drive out of the parking garage to meet up with the driver to make it easier to find me. She reminded me that my keys being inside the car would make that a bit tricky...

They sent a guy over and he had the door opened in about five seconds flat. That freaked me out a little bit; what if a criminal were to secure a position as a AAA driver? That’s probably a wee bit paranoid of a thought. Well anyway, instead of being pouty over my lost hours of morning of café relaxation, I kept visioning my legs hanging out of the trunk and my head peeking out between the back seats and couldn’t help but chuckle. Oh, my life…

NOOOOOOO!