I’m embarrassed to admit, my new car is smarter than I am.
I know I’ll figure out how it works (I hope) given a little time …
Do I need a car to tell me I’m doing things wrong?
(As if a teenage son, two sort-of adult kids, and a husband aren’t bad enough?)
“You’re not making sense,” it informed me yesterday.
“I’m not making sense?” I asked my car, hurt.
“Let me be more clear about your choices,” it explained.
I’m very happy to see some of its features though.
For instance, I was born with no sense of direction, whatsoever.
I know the beach is west, but if I can’t see the ocean …
Well, it’s not a pretty sight.
The beach is usually west here, but the California coast is crooked so NOT ALWAYS.
My new car is helpful for someone like me.
If I say “Home” it takes me home.
Apparently it was programmed to do amazing things like that (and given personal information about me – like where my home is) before I ever got it.
It’s like … magic?
I knew there was a lot of new technology put in cars lately, but (even so!) it keeps surprising me.
“Alternative Rock,” I told it yesterday.
That made it think for a minute.
“What is it you really want?” my car asked me.
“Alternative Rock,” I said again – trying to test out the “free” satellite radio that came with it for the first six months.
“Rock?” my car asked.
“Yes,” I answered.
Led Zeppelin blared out from the speakers a moment later.
Clearly, I’m not communicating as well as I should be.
(I’m sure it’s MY fault and not the car’s – because, naturally!)
It also yells at me when I park in our garage because (apparently) I park too close to an old filing cabinet we have stored nearby.
“STOP YOU’RE GOING TO HIT THE FILING CABINET!” it yells.
“I’VE PARKED HERE FOR MANY YEARS AND HAVE NOT HIT IT YET,” I yell back.
In time, a certain trust will develop.
At least, I hope it will.
We’re still in the getting to know each other phase.