Stickin' to It

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As those of you kind souls who actually read this blog know, the scooter and I had a bit of a falling out over a pothole. We’ve come to a truce, but do not see each other regularly.

This is probably why I am on campus at 6am, in pitch black, sweating profusely in what I believe (and will later confirm) to be freaking hot temperatures. On sentence four of this blog post I have already sweat through my shirt and have beads of the salty sweat hanging off my upper lip. Lovely.

So what’s up with the 6am roll call, you may ask. (I ask it every morning.) Well, since the scooter didn’t work out, my roommates and I rented a car, with me as the primary driver. The only issue? The car is a manual and my driving self has been born and raised on the good old automatic. Save for a brief time in high school when my best friend Kara used to let me shift gears for her while she drove (sorry, Greg), I have only ever once driven a stick shift. Desperate for any mode of transportation, I jumped at the opportunity to rent the manual, figuring that at nearly 32 (how did THAT happen?), it’s about time I learned to drive a stick. On the left side of the road, because yeah, why make it easy on myself?

After the car was dropped off, one of my mentors arranged for a driving instructor to pick me up at school the next day, give me a lesson, and then drop me off at my house. I’m not quite sure what I expected, but what I got was nothing less than annoyingly comical ...

The driving instructor picks me up TWO hours late (he first said he had the time wrong, then said he forgot).* He speaks no English. I didn’t really expect him to speak that much English, but the only word I understood was “tak,” which means no. I heard it a lot. What I did expect him to do was to show me how the balance of the clutch and gas work together. Having Googled and watched about eight online videos on driving a manual, I knew this was integral to making the car go. I did not get that from the instructor. Not even a miming of pedals with his hands. After grunting at me to get in the driver’s seat, he intimates that I should “go.” And go, we did. 

Throughout the whole lesson, the instructor slaps my leg when he wants me to shift gears and constantly has his hand on my steering wheel. I think he thought I had never driven before. Now, I’ve backed over my fair share of signs (sorry, Caps Hill), but I’ve been driving for longer than I haven’t been. Even on the left side of the road, I know how to drive in a straight line and not hit things. Okay, living things. At some point, knowing he couldn’t understand me, I start to get smart with him. I won’t lie, it felt kind of great to say whatever I thought. After miraculously making it home, the instructor says the only two words of English I hear from him: more lesson? Without thinking twice, I loudly said, “No, we’re done.”

I probably should have taken more lessons, but I wasn’t about to take anything from this dude. In light of that, I’ve been figuring it out. And probably ruining the clutch in the process. But you know what? Learning is doing. Gawd, did I just say that? But in a lot of instances, particularly in driving and shifting, it’s true. So, I’ve been driving to and from school. Solo. Stalling. Angering Malaysian drivers left and right. It’s been awesome.

All of this brings us back to why I am at school at 6am, in the dark, sweating. Learning is doing, but I’m not about to learn-do in the morning traffic jam.  Also, I don’t like to do anything poorly. And I really don’t like to do anything poorly in front of others. So the early morning wake up call is worth the humiliation I save myself from. So, I’ve been driving into school at about 5:30am or 5:45am. I realize that most of the HNA teachers I know and love probably leave at that very same time every day, but here in Malaysia, teachers only arrive about a half hour before school starts. I can’t say why.

For the past few days, I’ve been getting to school around 5:45am or 6am. I practice stopping and starting in the parking lot for about 20 minutes. I’m stalling out less and less, but it definitely still happens. After frustrating myself, I park the car and go to one of the few lit areas of the campus where I lesson plan, listen to podcasts, and blog. Even when I master ye olde manual transmission, I may still come in early. It’s nice to drink coffee and watch the sun rise. Thus far ...

*One of my Form 1 students, who doesn’t speak much to me, but who is quite bright, saw me waiting for the instructor in the afternoon heat and brought me an ice cold juice, simply saying “this is for you, miss.” Kid, you are awesome.