I've never owned one, but if I remember the early ones with the A+ engines had a long straight stick, the design changing when they moved over to the 'K' series engine. Does that sound right?
I've no idea. It was just an excuse to post a link to my favourite comedy line of all time!
Having said that, one of my late 1980s French Alps pass-storming trips was conducted in a Metro - two of us with two bikes. Frames and rear wheels on the back seat and in the boot respectively, front wheels and luggage on the roof.
It was my friend's car, and as it happens I got very acquainted with its gearstick on this trip - partly because I drove it back for him to England from Grenoble having left him to have another holiday down on the southern canals. In the Alps, going down the mighty Col de L'Iseran, the brake pedal had, terrifyingly, started going all the way to the floor before actuating, but that rectified itself after stopping to let the brakes cool down.
But on the journey down there from England, I had actually ended up spending an inordinate amount of time
far too closely involved with the damned gearstick. A French girl had approached us on the ferry asking for a lift to a station some way into France from Dieppe. I said
"well, sure but it's a tiny car full of bikes and stuff and the only place you could sit would be on the roof.....or the front seat with me". This didn't faze her in the slightest, and being a young chap eager to get acquainted with French girls, of course I was only too keen to facilitate the request, particularly if it meant enforced jostling with one at close quarters.......
So we set off from Dieppe in the early hours of the morning as usual, having agreed to set her down at Reims station. But when we got to Reims, it was still early, and she asked to carry on with us further down France. So we said
"ok, how about Troyes?" Troyes was agreed but, you guessed it, Troyes came and went and she wanted to carry on......her destination was Marseilles. Being young and skint, we were using N-roads all the way, to avoid the autoroute tolls, so things were slower and more winding than making the trip these days. The advantage of driving through the night was that the roads were empty.
Now, several hours of front-seat jostling along these roads was starting to wear a bit thin, despite the upside. And I was getting substantially brassed off with that bloomin' gearstick by now. So by the time we got to Dijon, the discomfort was so great that I decided we'd take her to Dijon station, and this time it's definite. Well, we pulled up outside the gare, escorted her to the ticket office and made sure there was a suitable train for her to catch, and that she had the money, and strolled back to the car, me looking forward to a small front seat all to myself again and some relief from the gearstick (which I had kept knocking out of gear as I dozed, much to my friend's chagrin).
But lo and behold, just as we were pulling away, I spotted the girl in the wing mirror, coming towards us with her backpack. I'm sorry to say I told my friend to put his foot down and get out of there sharpish.
Well that's Mini Metro gearsticks and me!