I’d like to run a little experiment here.
First, look at this:
It’s the driver’s position of a T-72 tank. This is a T-72 tank:
Check out the steering tillers instead of a wheel, and all that wiring and equipment consoles on all sides.
Look at the periscope here – that rectangular glass thing hanging from the ceiling. It’s what you’re supposed to look through when the hatches are closed, in order to drive.
If you look over your shoulder, this maze of equipment is what meets your eyes:
Right.
Now, tell me this as honestly as possible:
Would you like to drive this thing?
OK, now that you’ve answered that question, I have another:
Are you male or female?
Yes, I thought so.
I’d lay a wager that any male who looked at that driver’s position would totally have wanted to climb down through the hatch and into this maze of equipment, grabbed those tillers, and started the engine into life. Even someone like me, a right-brained natural left-hander with zero mechanical aptitude, can feel my hands and feet itching to get to work on those gearshifts and pedals. It’s like something calling to the male brain that makes us adore doing things that are undoubtedly uncomfortable and possibly dangerous. Undoubtedly it has an evolutionary explanation – and one which hasn’t made us go extinct. Yet.
Don’t get me wrong, ladies. We men also like to drive luxury cars. But, given the choice of driving a Bentley for an hour, or a T-72, guess which we’d rather choose?
It’s a male thing. Most of you ladies wouldn’t understand.
And as for those who do – well, you’d be right down inside that tank with us.
Wouldn’t you?
When you're right, you're right.
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