Scene: a side-street just off the Square, where a man is spinning the wheels of his car in a vain effort to maneuver out of the icy snow in which he is parked.

Zzzzzzaaaaaaeeeeeeerrrrrrrrrzzzzzz! Blublublu uuurrrruurrzzzzzzzuuuunnnnnnah.

A passerby, who has been watching for some time, walks up and taps on the man's window. The man rolls it down.

Passerby: What seems to be the trouble?

Man: Wheels won't catch on this ice. Watch (flooring the accelerator) ZzzzzzeeeeeerrrruuuUUU! See?

Pass: Oh. Well, I think you're going about it in the wrong way.

Man: Well, maybe I am; what would you suggest?

Pass: Well, you know there's something called starting friction; now on this ice here, when you put the car in low gear and step on your pedal, you've got too much oomph under you to catch on. See?

Man: Oh. (pause) Then what should I do?

Pass: The thing to do is to stick her into third, or at least second, and ease her off gently, without too much oomph.

Man: Say, that sounds like a fine idea. (pause) Only I don't think it will work.

Pass: Why not?

Man: Because I've got automatic transmission in the car.

Pass: Oh.

Man: Look, I'll give her another go (flooring it).