Giving Drunken Directions Does Not Constitute “Learning How To Stick Shift”

It seems that whenever Andrew drinks, I get pulled into some small adventure.

In this case, Andrew was drinking at his work party during our first summer together. He had invited me, probably thinking that I would make friends with everyone. That was the day he learned that I sucked at making friends.

Sidenote: I went to the same school from daycare at two years old until my High School graduation; meeting new people was a mostly pointless skill.

Technically its "bear spray", because you're not allowed to
carry any weapon in Canadaland.

Because of my lack of social proficiency, my night mostly consisted of :

• Avoiding one of the staff members that I went to school with. (He lived in my neighbourhood and creeped me out enough that I bought some pepper spray).
• Woefully watching the employees' children have the time of their lives in a rented bouncy castle that would only take children under 12.
• Eating multiple plates of Andrew's mother's famous macaroni salad. You haven't tasted macaroni salad until you've tasted her macaroni salad. (I kind of feel like that sounds like a sexual innuendo.)

Sidenote: Andrew got the job in part because his boss wanted to sleep with his mom. Andrew's mom, that is. Not his own mother. Ew.

While I didn't particularly have a blast, Andrew was really enjoying the night, which made me happy. Sometimes, you just gotta let hicks do their hick shit. That way, he can get it out of his system, so that we don't end up with crap like this at home:

Ok, I'm not going to lie, this acually looks like fun. As long as no one pees in the tub. 

Finally, the night was at an end. We were staying the night at Andrew's friend's house nearby, so I asked Andrew how we were getting there. He looked at me (most likely with unfocused eyes) like I was asking him to ride a unicorn. Utterly confused and unprepared.

Andrew:..Well, Corey already went home.  

Me: .......

Andrew: ...So...I guess I'm driving?

Me: No way in hell.

After a long discussion about all of our options, we decided that I would drive Andrew's truck down, as I had only had one drink at 7pm, and it was now 2am.

Andrew's truck was a manual. I had never driven a manual before in my life, and I certainly didn't want to start learning on a late saturday night with a drunken crowd to witness the disaster. Unfortunately, that's exactly what happened.

For those who were taught how to drive by a horrible teacher, think of me in the same situation, with the added fact that the teacher was also completely drunk. It was like I was taught to drive by Ozzy Osbourne. I stalled at least four times in the driveway before I was even able to start moving, and instead of pushing the left turn signal, I ended up flashing the highbeams in the faces of all the partygoers. If I didn't have their attention before, I certainly did now.



Picture this X10, but minus the fur, and add camo clothing, work
 boots and a beer in everyone's hands.

With my lovely audience entranced like deer in the headlights (litterally in headlights), I drove away in first gear with the motor doing some noises that previous experience tells me were extremely unnatural.

I then proceeded down multiple roads in the middle of the woods. I had no idea if Andrew even knew where we were going, because he kept yelling "TURN LEFT!", even though there was nothing but a ditch and trees on the lefthand side.

You'd think you can't take a wrong turn while driving 10 km/h (6 mph), but it turns out you can. When I found out that Andrew's left was really right all along (right as in the direction, not as in being correct), I had to do a few slow-motion 180+ spins. I thank God the streets were deserted that night, cause I'm pretty sure I was driving like I was under the influence. The cops would have thought I had taken a new drug made of weed and sloth blood. (I tried to find a funny name for the drug, but it turns out I would be horrible at marketing illegal drugs. Scratch that off my list of potential careers.)

After fifteen minutes of driving 40km (25mi) below the speed limit, we finally made it to what I hoped was his friend's house. I wasn't sure it was actually his place since I had never been there before - the clarity of Andrew's thinking was suspect. We walked in with my fingers crossed that we wouldn't get charged with home invasion.

Thankfully, although Andrew's ability to comprehend relative direction is hindered when completely trashed, his sense of overall direction is fine. This makes absolutely no sense to me, but Andrew has never made much sense. He can hunt, gut and clean any animal, but he gets grossed out when I show half-chewed food in my mouth.

I'm happy to report that Andrew actually got the house right, so no one was arrested. Well, we weren't arrested; who knows who was arrested at the party.

But no matter how hungover Andrew was the next morning, I made him drive the truck home.