Total Recall

Boy this Toyota recall thing is getting a lot of press. I haven’t figured out why. Maybe because the recall is so widespread, or maybe because it is such a surprise that something could be manufactured in this day and age that doesn’t work the way it should, and can actually kill people. Thank goodness this is an isolated incident . . . that has never happened in the car world before . . . because this is nothing like the Pinto gas bomb or the recent GM recall of 1.5 million cars for possible engine fires . . .

When I was kid, every car that my family owned had at least one serious thing wrong with it. I still have nightmares thinking of all the warnings I received as a child about each and every one of our vehicles. “Don’t roll the window down or we won’t be able to roll it up. Don’t forget to keep a coat hanger under the seat in case the lock gets stuck or you will have to climb out the window. And no matter what--never, ever lean against the handle in the back seat, or it might come open.”

Of course, I never took these warnings seriously, I was a kid I wasn’t in charge of safety standards. Then, one day, my sister leaned against the door handle of our Chevy Impala and fell out while we were driving across a busy intersection. Luckily, I know how to remain calm under pressure, so without a second to spare I coolly alerted the driver as I watched my sister roll helplessly into on-coming Traffic. It went something like this “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! TERESA!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Of course I did pause momentarily thinking this might not be totally bad, I could finagle my own room out of it, but I took the high road, I had to do the right thing. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! TUCK AND ROLL TERESA! TUCK AND ROLL! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Let me tell you, a poignant moment like that sticks with a person, and I have never leaned on a car door since.

But really, what is all the recall ruckus about; it isn’t like this is the first in the history of automobiles? Over the years I have owned at least 10 cars that tried to kill me and most of them have, or should have, been on a recall list. I have a personal vendetta against the dodge K car—it doesn’t run right—K? What about Fiat, and any Datsun ever made, or the Delorean—otherwise known as the tin can with wings? What’s that? Not enough evidence you say? Well how about the Fiesta, the Festiva, the Rabbit, the Escort, the Jetta. Puhleez, I can think of 50 cars that had worse problems then this hybrid debacle and I have survived every one of them—I have the scars to prove it!

Cars today have so many features, it is no wonder the important parts don’t work. They have DVD players, satellite radio, air-conditioning, heated seats, air bags and windshield wipers for crying out loud. I never even had anything but AM radio in a car until 1999. This is particularly traumatizing since I was a social pariah for nothing more than knowing all the words to show tunes and being the only 10 year-old in my neighborhood who thought “The Shadow” was quality programming, but I digress. A few more cars from my past –the Vega, the Pinto, the El Camino, need I say more? Ok one more, the Brat. Hello?! How come no one complained about that car? Otherwise known as the mullet of the car world; business in the front, party in the back, all garbage.

I also happened to be an unsuspecting victim of the Yugo. Now there is a car that should have been recalled. I am almost positive that somewhere in the owner’s manual of that car it said the following “going over a speed bump will crack the engine block” and “reaching speeds of more than 10 miles an hour will cause this car to spontaneously burst into flames” and “good luck explaining this car to a date.”

Now there is some guy who is making the Yugo for the new millennium. It is called the Tata Nano and it costs less than the Yugo did 30 years ago. That means, adjusted for inflation, the Tata Nano is worth about twenty five cents or .0000000001 Euros (ten cents Canadian.) The premise of this Tata Nano is that it is inexpensive and everyone will be able to own one—kind of like Happy Meal toys—we all get one whether we have room in the landfill or not. But don’t worry; if you are a lover of the original Yugo it is still available in gumball machines in the greater Los Angeles area, if I am not mistaken.

The part that I find hardest to believe is that no one saw this recall trouble coming from a hybrid? Doesn’t hybrid mean--part car, part rickshaw? I can imagine the conversation when purchasing a vehicle like that—“Do the bicycle tires come standard and what about the hand pump? So the windshield is 100% poly coated Plexiglas? Awesome! The engine is made from recycled green bean cans and a motor from a Conair hair dryer? Sweet! So are the training wheels included in the floor model? Oh, only on the deluxe models—bummer.”

Seriously, the hybrid gets 8000 miles to the gallon and is constructed mostly out of biodegradable plastic bubble wrap and Elmer’s glue and no one suspected it might have mechanical problems? I have seen this type of mystification before. In the 80’s it seemed like auto makers had some sort of axe to grind with the public, but it was actually just the Aqua Net and White Rain fumes making everyone light headed and those 4 inch shoulder pads gave folks inflated self-confidence. It became the decade of bad decisions. Today I think we can blame the same types of purchasing/manufacturing problems on global warming and those skinny jeans cutting off oxygen to the brain.

People are just wimpy these days, they recall everything. Strollers that fold up spontaneously with the child still in it, parts that come off of toys and become a choking hazard, lead paint causing brain damage, appliances that try and take over cities, etc. These were not considered problems in 1985 it was called ‘thinning the herd.’ Now we are all so used to surviving until middle age that we have become soft. We all just need to toughen up and get with the program. I mean, I don’t think I am the only one who rolled around unfettered in the back seat of a Caprice Classic because the seatbelts were scrunched up somewhere in the joint of the seat. And, even if we could find them, the only thing we ever used them for was to secure a TV we were hauling. That was life. We went to the emergency room, we got our CAT scan and our plaster casts and we moved on. We got back in our 4-horse death machine and we let it ride. Cuz if you are going to go out in a blaze of glory, you might as well do it in style, behind the wheel of a 2 cylinder, 2 door hatchback, with oxidized paint, miss-matched interior, a glove box that doesn’t open or close and a gear-shift that won’t go into reverse . . . thank you car maker’s for bringing back the good ol’ days.

Bracing for Impact

One day, my husband said this to me: “Go ahead honey, why don’t you drive?”

I know, I couldn’t believe it either.

So I said, “Nah, it’s raining.”
“It is ok. You can drive slow. I’m in no hurry,” he said.
“Nahhh.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t like to drive with you in the car.”
“Why?”
“You’re too distracting.”
“Because I am talking to you?”
“No, by gasping and shrieking every time I take a turn. Or the way you flinch and press both palms to the dash every time I pass someone.”
Then he said, “Oh, that. That is just me bracing for impact.”

So, he thinks I am a bad driver. It makes life easier if you just AWG. AWG is my new mantra, a little something I made up, it means: Admit the truth, Work within the parameters of your limitations, and Get on with life. That is why when my husband insults my driving, I don’t get indignant. What is the point? It is a true assessment of my abilities. When other folks hear this they say things like, “Oh, come on now. I am sure you aren’t that bad.” or “I am sure you are better than you think.” But I have never had any of them offer to ride with me.

I think my driving problems began in high school with the driver education program. You see, I didn’t go to one. My dad taught me how to drive. Then after half a year he took me to the county seat to take the actual driving test with the local sheriff. Looking back, the only reason that I can think of why my dad would agree to such insanity is that it never crossed his mind that I would pass the test. I mean, he drove with me for six months, he must have assumed that no competent licensing agency would allow me to pass. But he underestimated my sheer force of will and steely determination. Or, it may have been the crying. Yeah, now that I think about it, it was probably the crying.

When my father first agreed to teach me to drive I am guessing that he thought it would be easy. He was a tank commander in the army and I doubt that he felt out-gunned by a sixteen-year-old girl with poor fashion sense and an addiction to Aqua-Net hair spray. I am sure that he sized me up and thought, ‘piece of cake.’

Our first trip out together was going to be a nice little jaunt around the block. I started the car and drove around each turn, doing what I thought, was a reasonable 45 mph. He didn’t say a word for the 30 seconds it took us to come back to our starting spot in front of the house. When I slammed on the brakes, and his head lurched forward with whip-lash force, narrowly missing the windshield, I said, “How was that?” He looked at me with an expression I had never seen before, I could see much more of his actual eyeball than I had ever remembered seeing, and it was very white. Then, when his breathing returned to normal, he said, “Let’s try that again. Only slower this time. Much slower.”

Thus began our journey together. He tried to teach me to drive and I taught him what really causes grey hair. It was an experience. The clutch survived, which is amazing in it self, I stripped out a number of gears and I once ran the car so far out of gas that air got in the lines. So, when the woman at the DMV handed me my freshly minted driver’s license I was ecstatic. My dad, again, was speechless. I am not sure if it was pride or fear, but either way, he knew there was no turning back. For the ride home, he let me drive. There is nothing like the feel of the open road in an avocado green station wagon with your petrified parent clutching his chest in the seat next to you.

Ever the teacher, on the ride home, my dad decided to give me one last driving lesson. He wanted me to pass someone. I had not passed anyone in all of our training together. Not a little old lady on a Sunday drive, not a single-cylinder moped, not even a pedestrian. Now my dad wanted me to pass the longest greyhound bus in the world.

His mini lesson began with: “See that bus ahead of us is going 45 mph. The speed limit is 55. We are coming up to a good spot to pass. When you see the dotted line, look for oncoming traffic and if the lane is open, pass this bus.”
I said, “Dad, I can’t.”
“Pass the bus.”
“I can’t.”
Then more firmly, he said, “Pass the bus.”
“Ok.”

I was scared out of my ponytail. After all of his lectures on not speeding I was determined not to speed as I followed his directive. So, I began slowly accelerating, 45 mph, then 46, 47. The minutes ticked by. I didn’t want to move too quickly, so as to avoid the whole ‘trip around the block’ incident.

“Pass or get back into your lane,” he said a little too forcefully.
“I am passing.”

I could see a car heading toward us in the distance. The speedometer was slowly climbing as we were almost neck and neck with the front of the bus.

“Pass or get back over!” He must have seen the on-coming car too.

I glanced at the gauges, we were almost up to 50 mph and it only took us 4 or 5 minutes tops.

“Pass or get over!” Now he was almost shrieking.
“I don’t want to break the law.”

The on-coming car was getting closer. I wasn’t sure how to proceed, but his instructions were getting shorter and louder.

“PASS OR OVER, PASS OR OVER!!!”
“I can’t speed. You told me not to speed.”
“AAAAAAAACCCKKK!”

So, to make him happy, I decided to pass. I didn’t know that you were supposed to get one car length in front of the other automobile before you pass them. (Was that even in the manual?!) So, I just nosed in, narrowly missing a head-on collision with the on-coming car and a ramming from a 10-ton commercial transportation vehicle.

Even though I was upbeat and positive about my triumph over passing the bus--my dad was not. “Can I do a victory lap around town when we get home?” I asked.
“No,” was all he said.

I am not blaming anyone for my bad driving, least of all myself. I mean, I am a victim of unfortunate circumstances. Sometimes the cosmos just conspires against me, I am blaming the devil.

So when you are on the highway with traffic backed up to the coast, and there is one lone car at the front of the pack going 45 mph in a 70 mph zone, maybe you will be more understanding when you zoom around them at the first opportunity. And please wave hello when you cruise on by me, but don’t honk, I tend to swerve when startled.

Don't Squeeze the Garmin

I thought the television program “Lost” was going to be a reality show, about a bunch of guys stranded on an island trying to get home. And the first one to crack and look at a map would get voted off. Boy was I disappointed when I saw the first episode, until I noticed an odd anomaly. Three-quarters of the cast were males . . . on a show titled “Lost” . . . coincidence? I think not.

I am lucky, my husband never gets lost. He just takes the scenic route. That is why he is always rushing me whenever we have to go anywhere; we never really know how long the drive is going to take. Going across town may take 2 hours--I can understand why he wants me to hurry.

I don’t think I would mind riding with a man who does get lost as long as he is willing to admit it. Let’s just be honest with one another—he gets lost and I look better with makeup on. See now, that wasn’t so bad. However, after 13 years we are still keeping up the charade—he pretends he knows where we are going and I pretend not to notice we have passed the same spot 3 times. To keep up the pretense my husband speaks in man-code when we are on a road trip. He will say things that have hidden meanings. Things like:

“Look at this beautiful scenery!” but what he really means is: None of this looks familiar.

“I think it is up around this next corner.” But what he really means is: I sure hope it is up around this next corner. Fingers crossed.

“Wow, look at that cloud, looks like rain.” That means: Great, now it is starting to get dark. Now I will never find it.

Sometimes he says, “There’s a deer.” In man code that means: I will create a diversion and she won’t realize that we are lost.

Or he will say, “I know where we are. You worry too much.” But really means: I sure wish I knew where we are.

When my husband says, “It sure is nice to get out on the open road and spend some quality time together;” what he really means is: I hope that she doesn’t try to shoot me with the emergency flare gun under her seat.

Because of our often eventful road trips and the unintelligible man code, I bought my husband a Garmin GPS device for his birthday. I was hoping it would cut down on the times we would have to take the “scenic route.” Things were going well the first few times he used it. A lilting woman’s voice came out of the device and said lovely things like: “Turn right in 2.8 miles” and “Go 1.4 miles and turn left” or “Estimated time of arrival 5 minutes.”

I was amazed, not just because it was so easy to use and follow the directions, but because it was the first time I had ever seen my husband actually listen to a woman’s voice. Everything was going along great until, one day; my husband saw a gravel road out of the corner of his eye. He yanked the steering wheel with considerable force and said the four most horrible words in the English language—“I know a shortcut.”

The next thing I know we are hurtling along an unpaved road with no name and no identifying landmarks. I was panicked, but the Garmin lady was unfazed. “Make a U-turn at the next intersection.” She remained calm while inside I was having flashbacks of a trip to a birthday party in which we ended up in the wrong county.

Garmin lady reiterated, “Off course, recalculating.”

All that my husband said was, “Its ok, this road isn’t in the map database. Don’t worry, I know where we are.” At that point, I saw my life pass before my eyes because the gravel road then turned into a packed dirt road. It turns out I didn’t need to be afraid of that road, because it was only a matter of minutes before that road became a dirt road with patches of grass and weeds growing up from the center of the lane.

“I don’t think we are going the right way.”
“Yes we are, it is just up past this ridge a ways and then down into that draw. Then lickety-split we will be back on the highway.”
“Turn left at the next intersection. Recalculating.”
“We aren’t even on a road.”
“Yes, we are. These tracks are a road.”
“For pioneers maybe, not for a minivan. There is a creek going over it.”
“A little water never hurt anyone.”
“Off course, recalculating.”

I sat like a stone for the next little while. Only moving to check my phone and see if I had cell reception, hopeful that I could call for help and be rescued from the lunatic behind the wheel. The silence was only broken by the Garmin lady periodically announcing we needed to turn around and resume course. I am not sure, but I sensed she was starting to panic too, since her requests to make a u-turn became more frequent.

As we rambled along we came to a huge open space where the road (read: tracks) ended and nothing was there but a wide open field. That is when the unthinkable happened. My husband yelled at Garmin lady. My only sane companion on this God-forsaken journey, and he was telling her to be quiet. I had to say something.

“Leave her alone!”
“What?”
“Stop yelling at her, she is just trying to help.”
“Recalculating.”

Then he hit Garmin lady with his hat and put the car in reverse. We turned around, heading back the way we came.

Garmin lady gave us directions the rest of the way, although she didn’t sound quite as spunky as before. I didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip, but when Garmin lady said “Turn right and arrive at destination” I thought I was going to cry.

We now have a new family policy regarding the Garmin: No one will poke, prod, squeeze, hit, or otherwise man-handle Garmin lady. She saved my life after all, it was the least I could do.

Sprinkler Heads

This morning my four-year-old yelled at me from his booster seat in the car. "Go the speed limit please!" I looked at him in the rear-view mirror a little bit confused by his back-seat driving and said that I was. "No you're not, all the cars in the other lane are passing us!" I tried to explain to him that those other cars were going too fast for the snowy conditions and that I was trying to be safe. "Besides," I said, "it's not a race."

"You always say that when you go slow," he said.

Now, I don't know where he got his backseat driving mentality. It might be from my husband who shouts things at me when I drive. Like the other day, when I was pulling out of the driveway my husband bellowed, "Hello! Sprinkler heads!" Maybe the little one learned it from his older brother, or Aunt Teresa who affectionately calls me "A blue hair in training." Or, it might be all the passing motorists yelling at me to get off the road, or the pedestrians telling me to get off the sidewalk. I am not accusing, I am just saying, he got it from somewhere.

People don't yell at me all the time, some of them just honk. It is a nice change of pace really. I don't have to mentally censor a car horn.

I try to obey the rules of the road, I really, really do. I follow the laws of the land and try to be a defensive driver. You have to be defensive when people are throwing things at your car. Anyway, all I am saying is I do my best. I know that I get a little distracted from time to time--but whose idea was it to put a radio in a car anyway? Not mine. When "Celebration" comes on it is like an invitation to be happy, besides singing along to Kool & The Gang is not a crime. And lately I have tried really hard to remember to keep my hands on the wheel, even during the "Woo-Hoo" parts. That just shows how much I have grown.

My oldest son agrees with me too, the other day when I was dropping him off at school he gave me a compliment. "Geez Mom, you got your speed up to over 20 MPH this morning."

I blushed. "I can't believe you noticed."

"Yeah, the automatic door locks engaged."