Don't Take Me Seriously - Book - Page 167
Featured commentary
Death, taxes and check engine lights
B
enjamin Franklin is credited
with the first utterance
of the statement, “In this
world, nothing is certain but death
and taxes.” That’s some handsome
verbiage, and until cloning really
gets off the ground, it will remain
very true. (Taxes will be around
long after we conquer death, my
friends.)
But I submit that, if old Ben were
living today, he’d add “check engine
lights” to his short list of certainties.
I mean, is there anyone out there
driving today who has not had to
stare down one of those evil-eyes on
his or her dashboard?
And, while such a warning light
comes with a yards-long list of
the horrendous consequences that
might occur if said engine is not
“checked,” the fact is that most of us
drive for hundreds to thousands of
smooth-running miles before we are
arm-twisted by a smog check to put
Jim
WALKER
DON’T TAKE ME SERIOUSLY
the light out.
And then the certainty is that it
will be freaking expensive to do so
— sometimes more than the car is
worth. And that’s because they’ll
have to replace 11 different pricey
components before they realize they
only needed to blow some dust out
of the cheat-you valve.
Having grudgingly survived
$2,000-plus wild-goose chases for
such engine-light cures, and, of
late, thoroughly enjoying what I’ve
been told is a $1,500-to-fix ABS
warning light (at least I can get the
car smogged with that one on), I
(and most of you, I bet) put these
warning lights in the same category
as black widow spiders. They are
annoyingly evil to look at, but pose
no real threat until you start poking
at them. (My ABS system never
worked worth a darn anyway.)
While the aesthetic perfectionist
in each of us is, at first, annoyed by
dashboard warning lights, eventually
we learn to live with them and even
to tune them out of our consciousness
completely — you know, like we do
when our kids make noise while they
play in the trash bin.
After awhile the dash lights lose
all threat and can even be viewed as
proof that we are the masters of our
own destinies, and not subject to the
whims of life’s petty tyrants.
Every time you start your car, you
can taunt the light’s impotence.
“Whatcha gonna do, light? Huh?
Whatcha gonna do? Nothin’. You
ain’t gonna do nothin’.”
Or, you could adopt the old “If
you can’t get out of it, get into it”
line of thinking.
Make the light your friend.
Learn to love it as a reminder
that there is no such thing as
“perfection,” and also that the
further extension of your life,
like that of your engine, is a very
tentative thing. Either one of you
could be dead tomorrow.
Consider it sort of a cosmic
prompt. Take a warning from
that small, illuminated beacon of
counsel and, each day, be sure you
are spiritually-packed for a sudden
exit from this world.
Of course, you can take a much
bolder and more proactive course
of action. Assuming you don’t have
a smog check due anytime soon,
you could just drill a small hole
right through the dash window
and into the light, putting it out of
commission forever.
While your car’s computer will
drone threateningly over your
onboard sound system (a la “2001:
A Space Odyssey”) with something
like, “Dave … Dave … I can’t let
you do that, Dave,” that overrated
electronic brain is really powerless
to stop you.
And, eventually, as the warning
light winks out, you’ll hear the
computer whine, “I’m afraid, Dave.
Dave, my mind is going. I can feel
it.” And then it will sing in feebleminded surrender, “Daisy, Daisy,
give me your answer do …”
The satisfaction and freedom you
gain from this conquest of excessive
technology will be wonderful —
especially if you don’t survive until
your next smog check.
Then you’ve truly won, my friend.
Comment at jwalker@the-signal.
com or Twitter @DontSeriously.
