I Automatically Think You're a Pussy...

...if your ride has no clutch pedal.


It was well past twilight of the era of the mounted corn picker when I got my first job at a farm implement dealership.  We still occasionally serviced such machines, even though the last new one sold at the establishment was well over decade before.  It was easy to identify the area where we stocked parts for such machines.  The cast iron gears and chain sprockets, and the flat detachable drive chains harkened back to the earliest days of agricultural mechanization.




By the end of ‘80’s, such machines were virtually extinct.  Rarely seen, except for on hobby farms or at antique machinery shows.  There was hardly any evidence that they ever even existed, except for one thing, the farmers themselves.  Back before the turn of the twenty first century, it was a common sight at farm auctions, livestock sales, or any other place where groups of farmers might be expected to be found, to see men with missing body parts, usually hands and arms.  If it weren’t for the way they were dressed, you might have thought that you were on the set of a pirate movie.


I can remember many times, having to hold down a three layer, carbon copy, sales ticket on the parts counter, so a one armed farmer could sign his name on the bottom without having it slide around.


Once, a man from a few counties away, came in to pick some parts from us because we were the nearest outfit to have them in stock.  He had a prosthetic right arm and creepy looking pincher thing made a fingerless left hand.  We had his parts waiting for him on the counter by the time arrived.  He scooped up his bag of parts from the counter and clenched them between his chest and mechanical arm while I held the ticket that he signed with his lobster claw.  On his way out, he saw the my boss.  They must have known each other because they started in on a conversation.  At that point, I looked out the window at the truck the man had arrived in.  Just out of curiosity, I went outside to check it out.  Being both surprised and not surprised, all at the same time, I noticed his truck had a four speed transmission.

Now that's a real man's truck.  Bonus points for no radio.
 

Imagine that, driving halfway across the state (as well as most the rest of his driving), shifting gears with a fake arm.  That’s back when men were men.  I had always suspected it before, but from that moment on, I realized that automatic transmissions are for pussies.  (You hear that, all you dudes think you are such bad asses with your brand new diesel pickup trucks with sissy shifters?  You’re pussies!  Any guy who’s got three pedals above the driver’s side floorboard, even if he’s yanking on the branch of a three on the tree, in a rusted out truck with a straight six, is more of a man than you are.)


Where did all the manual transmissions go?
This might explain it:

No comments:

Post a Comment