The Misanthrope’s Corner

Did I ever tell you about the time I was shocked, shocked, by unabashed bigotry? It happened when I lived in Seattle. The Arab oil embargo was on, and between that and Seattle’s steep hills, I decided it was time to forego the convenience of an automatic and learn how to shift gears.

I called a driving school, made an appointment, and waited outside my building for the instructor. When he pulled up and I started walking toward his car, I noticed that he was staring at me with an expression of curiosity mingled with relief. I found out why when I introduced myself.

About the Author

Florence King

Florence King was a contributing editor of National Review.

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Did I ever tell you about the time I was shocked, shocked, by unabashed bigotry? It happened when I lived in Seattle. The Arab oil embargo was on, and between that and Seattle’s steep hills, I decided it was time to forego the convenience of an automatic and learn how to shift gears.

I called a driving school, made an appointment, and waited outside my building for the instructor. When he pulled up and I started walking toward his car, I noticed that he was staring at me with an expression of curiosity mingled with relief. I found out why when I introduced myself.