I’m really fond of my new car. Penny (you figure it out), a brand, spanking new Chevy Cruz, and I have been united for the past few months.
For several years I’ve been driving a three-quarter ton truck, known to me as Horace. Although I enjoyed the respect I commanded on the road, Horace was a pig in more ways than one. Switching over to a small car has been an adjustment, but mostly for the good.
There is really much to like about this little car. She’s easy to park, a trip to the gas pump doesn’t lead to heart palpitations (although it takes many more trips to build up to a free car wash), she’s easy to handle and those little gerbils under the hood are a peppy bunch.
I have really only one beef. I sincerely detest the woman who lives in the dashboard.
I think something has gone seriously wrong with the world when we are reduced to arguing, and I’ll admit it, swearing at, the (expletive deleted) in the dashboard.
Mostly we argue about the radio. It seems one cannot simply fiddle with a dial in order to tune to one’s favourite radio station. One must push a button, wait for the beep and then instruct the radio to tune to (guilty secret here) 540 am. That’s where it should always be, but sometimes my husband uses the car and he prefers the soul-sucking message delivered by Newstalk Radio, and sometimes little miss in the dashboard likes to just change it up on me all on her own initiative.
So I push the button, wait for the prompt, give the command and am asked, “did you say?” and then she’ll say something totally off the wall. Soon I’m shouting, “no, no, no” and dementedly shaking my fist at the dashboard.
She either has a hearing impairment or I have a speech impediment. In any case we cannot communicate, at all.
One harshly cold day dashboard mouthpiece decided to spontaneously turn on the navigation system and arbitrarily chose my destination. As I made my way to where “I” wanted to go, she kept spouting off directions and telling me I was “off route, you must turn in 30 metres, you are off route!” I told her to shut up, but it wasn’t until my daughter got in the car and figured out how to turn the system off that she finally did so.
The backup camera, the skylight, the surprisingly roomy trunk are all excellent features in a car. A yappy dashboard I can live without. I am learning to manually tune the radio and just keep my fingers crossed that the navigation system remains silent.
Arguing with one’s vehicle is surely a sign of mental deterioration, and there are many folks out there who think I’ve gone down that road far enough already.
***
Don’t forget, I’m being arrested Tuesday. Valorie Higgs is going to slap the cuffs on at 5 p.m. and haul me off to a dog cage at the Battlefords Animal Shelter. If you want me to spend three hours in the cage pick up your phone and dial 306-937-MEOW and make a pledge to the Shelter Us campaign. Otherwise I’ll just bail myself out and head home for a shower.
