the rental car

I seem to be engaged in psychological warfare. With a Chevy HHR.

Mine is black. I presume they don't feature that color because it is so intimidating. (photo from Chevy website)

Our first battle was over identity. I may have caused offense by asking, immediately upon seeing her tinted windows, how many sub-woofers were in the hatchback, and then by burning her a copy of a mix entitled How 2B Ghetto in the 90s. She refused to play the CD. I began to call her the Honey Wagon.

After this, the power struggle began. She thinks she’s smarter than me. This might be true. However, intelligence does not equate intuition, and even if it did, she is not the boss of me. She is a rental car! We have no commitment to each other! SHE IS NOTHING TO ME!


Valuing safety, she automatically turns on the headlights for me, day or night. I’m a creature of habit, and continue to manually turn the headlights on and off. This would not be a problem if she did not choose to mock me every time I turn off the headlights, flashing “AUTO LIGHTS OFF.” In caps lock! THERE IS NO NEED TO SHOUT! To add insult to injury (or, if we’re being honest, insult to insult) she will turn ON the interior lights until I have opened the car door.

And then, when I do open the car door, and push the lock button, nothing happens. Or, at least, that was my impression the first…five or six times I exited the car. (See how she is making me look so stupid!?) What actually happens when I push the lock button is that she beeps at me, three times, which is perhaps car morse code for, “I don’t trust you not to leave your keys in the car, so I will wait five seconds before actually locking these doors, in anticipation of your frantic return to the car.”

Le sigh.

Let’s just be thankful her interior lights aren’t red, because if movies are to be trusted, this is the only indication that a computer is evil.

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