Once every-other Pleistocene Period we buy a new car. We don’t really care about new cars. We barely drive them, put very few miles on them and frankly, they’re just not our thing. A car is basically a fancy skateboard that costs more, goes a little faster and travels a lot farther. Plus, there’s a built-in stereo.
Nothing more.
But once in a while we reach the point when we feel like it’s time for a new one. You know, because that’s what you’re supposed to do! Plus, the fact that because I barely ever washed the old one, the dirt, grime and pollen built up to form a cocoon around the car rendering it impossible to get in, much less drive. So, we pushed it into the woods somewhere and went to get a new one.
New ones do tend to be great. They have all this new technology – fancy buttons and fuel-saving gadgets. They are shiny. There isn’t dog hair all over the seats. They have that new car smell. You don’t need a chisel to get the door/cocoon open. And as an added bonus, they’re loaded with safety features and “advanced driver assistance systems.”
Think: Hey, it’s an fancy, faster skateboard … with a built-in stereo … and some kind of angry traffic cop on the back who yells at you to mind your lane and prevent you from running over the shopping cart you forgot was behind you.
My new car is loaded with all kinds of these automated safety features, plus eco-friendly options, a large computer screen and all manner of ways I can sync up my phone, music, maps and personal assistants. That way I can totally forget I’m driving, veer into another lane and thereby justify the pricey cost of the angry traffic cop who yells at me to straighten up. (This one even gently nudges the car back into the lane, and then chastises me for not being able to pay attention to the road while searching through my music playlist.)
It isn’t even the fanciest on the market, but I’m dazzled by all of the advancements that have come along in the last few years. The era of the self-driving car is dawning. Radar-assisted cruise control monitors the traffic around you and adjusts the speed to make sure I don’t plow into the back of anyone. Cameras and sensors scan everywhere. I think it even checks my cholesterol!
I, of course, don’t know how to use any of it. There are so many buttons and control switches and digital menus that I haven’t sorted out most of them.
I feel like I’ve just been thrown into the middle of NASA’s Mission Control room and told, “OK, we need you to land this rocket, you have 65 million buttons at your disposal, and if you press any of the red ones, it will explode and kill everyone. But we’re sure you’ll do great. Now go ahead and start it up.”
Start it up!?! But, there’s no key!!! (Oh yeah, there’s also no key!)
I try to figure everything out while I drive around. This causes me to lose focus on the road and I begin veering, triggering the traffic car who barks at me and wishes I would go back to looking at my music playlists. (It was a lot less scary.)
But I’m slowly getting the hang of it. Slowly figuring out my new car, and kind of enjoying it.
All except for one thing. The worst part about EVER buying a new car: The Fear!
You know “The Fear,” right? The new car fear? The terror you get after you’ve signed the paperwork, dropped loads of cash, driven it off the lot, and then remembered one of the addendums to Murphy’s Law: “Any new car with perfect paint and no dents or scratches shall not remain in such a pristine state for more than 48 hours.”
It’s a rule of physics. A universal constant. Perfection cannot last. And the harder you try to protect it, the worse the event will end up being. Might be a scratch while filling up gas (had this happen once) or a rock hitting the windshield or a dump truck filled with cow manure overturning on you. (Pretty sure that is waiting for me.)
And knowing it’s coming – that horrible anticipation and FEAR! – is enough to drive you crazy. Within days of getting our last new car, a truck backed into us in a parking lot, crumpling the hatch and requiring an extended stay with the dealer. I spent more time in a rental car than the car I had just paid for.
So, I drive around paranoid. In a state of suspended agony, just waiting for it to happen. A tourist in an RV rolled through a stop sign and almost side-swiped me. A dum-dum on U.S. 1 decided last-minute breaking to make an illegal U-turn was a stellar idea at highway speeds.
Danger lurks everywhere! I dodge and weave and bob, all the while wishing the angry traffic cop would calm down.
The shame of it all is that with all the bells and whistles, all the safety features, nothing is specifically designed to head off this new car jinx. How hard would it be to invent that? I would pay extra for such an option. It would be a whole lot better than having to drive around terrified, looking for flying rocks and manure trucks. Then I could go back to scanning my music playlists while the fancy skateboard traffic cop barks at me.