Originally Posted by
Nailhead
One of the cars I learned to drive in-- my grandfather's '77 Subaru Wagon-- eventually ended up at my uncle's place on Block Island, RI, running badly.
One day, I took it on a milk (or beer) run into town, through the tourist throngs. As I shifted from first to second, it backfired like a pistol shot. Loud. I happened to glance at the door to an antique shop as that backfire hit, noticing someone carrying a large china bowl. Arms went up in the air in terror, with predictable results.
I felt badly, but I was 18 & didn't see what I could do about it. I kept going.