Right after I got my license at 16, I got my then-boyfriend to teach me how to drive a manual transmission. Using his super-janky Suzuki Samurai, I got rather good at it. And the major reason why I decided to learn was because of the time where my family only had one car, it was a manual, and my mother refused to learn how to drive it. So we couldn't really go anywhere far without my dad, and that really sucked in our non-pedestrian friendly Southern Californian suburb.
Note: This is also the reason why I stopped reading The Devil Wears Prada after the first or second page. The heroine is having a crying fit because she can't smoke a cigarette while driving her boss's super-awesome sports car because it's a manual, and she stalls out in the middle of Manhattan traffic. Because I can do that and she couldn't I instantly thought that the heroine would never become likable to me, and so I stopped reading it immediately.