Driving has always been an adventure for me

It's a the pleasant typical winter morning in Paris. And that means that its drizzly and grey. Of course I hadn't looked out a window so I was surprised to feel it dropping on my uncovered head when I left the house. On Wednesdays there is no regular school. My kids go to an American school extension program for the morning. It's further outside Paris so I drive them into St. Cloud. Normally I take the mini which is small and adorable and already has the school in the GPS. Well, since we're going to Annecy to ski this weekend there was a little bit of a car shuffle and instead I ended up with the four door diesel, stick shift that FX normally drives. When they asked me last night if I could drive I said yes but I didn't really clarify that I meant I could drive it in the loosest possible meaning of the word.

It all went well until I got to the school where I realized at the gate that the pass to get into the school was on the visor of the mini. So I rolled down the window to explain this to the man that I see every week.

"Ma carte, c'est dans l'autre voiture." Anne has always said the security at this school is a crazy paranoid American thing. I just think it's a crazy paranoid crazy thing. After asking my name a couple times and telling me he didn't recognize me he smilingly waved me through telling me, "t'inquete pas(don't worry)".

After running back and forth after forgotten notebooks and classrooms I finally got back to the car to drive home. I turned the key in the ignition and then looked at the gear shifter: crisis approaching. Rather than having the five gears and then directly below the fifth, an 'R' for reverse there were six gears and far to the left beside first gear there was an 'R' for reverse. Okay, this should be no problem. I let off the emergency brake, took hold of the gear shifter and pulled. It felt and looked like it was as far over as it could go but it also looked exactly like it was in first gear. I tested it. Nope, I was definitely nudging the curb. For awhile I messed around with it and then pulled out the manual. Other than teaching me French vocabulary and detailing the difference between a gasoline stick and a diesel stick it really didn't help me. In near desperation I called Anne and then texted with no answer: "is there any secret to the reverse on this car?"

After sitting there wondering how I'd get out I glanced around looking for help. There are two gates and about fifty speed bumps to get into the parking lot and another to get out. At each of these gates stands two men and in between about three more to direct the parking of roughly fifty cars(I know, outrageous). The thing is these guys are real sticklers. They make you repark if you park crooked or too far from the car next to you. So they are all sort of standing around. Considering how everyone in France drives a diesel stick I knew these guys could help me out. The only thing was this was some serious vocabulary. I didn't know what reverse, manual transmission, borrow, any of that was in French. So I went and asked for help from one of the guys gate. He called for someone who had a license and three men standing at the other gate came walking down. Six of them stood in a little crowd around the car, the last car in the parking lot. I was looking distraught, they were looking amused. I considered telling them that I was American and of all my acquaintances in my generation I didn't know but maybe one girl who could drive a stick. I also know no one who drives a diesel car let alone a diesel stick. But it wasn't necessary, as I expected they were perfectly friendly and overly helpful and gave me lots of bilingual advice. Apparently there is a special little ring on the under side of the shifter that you have to lift to reverse. Who knew?

At least when I go pick up the kids I know they'll recognize me....as the only person they've met who can't drive.


On a different note, I recently heard about this blog from Elise but keep seeing stuff about it everywhere. It's written by a wife recording things her husband says in his sleep. Here are a few of my favorites:

"Give me back my hands! Limb thief!"

"Fluffy bunny + big ears + twitchy nose = great stew."

"You can stop clapping now if you want. Really. You'll need your energy for cheering me later."

"Hey, don't...don't say anything. Why don't you put it in an email, then I can ignore it at my pleasure."

"Your mums at the door again. Bury me, bury me deep."

"Vegetarians will be the first to go. That's my plan. Vegans haven't got a hope. 'I eat air, I'm so healthy...' Bollocks!"

So have a lovely day!