Deb: My car has a very busy life. In addition to taking me safely thither and yon, it has its own agenda. I can’t believe it has time to fit extra chores in, what with my packed schedule, but clearly it does. Or at least, it tries.
I was on my way to the Danforth the other day (which is a neighbourhood in midtown Toronto), but it turns out––without consulting me, mind you––my car had another appointment downtown. So off we went. Just as my car was getting to her destination, I realized that I was going to be late for my appointment so I made a u-turn and doubled back. Yeah, I feel bad about it, but what are you going to do? I hate to pull rank on my car, but I am kinda the boss. I guess because I didn’t pay cash, my car thinks she has the right to do her own thing. Maybe she’ll stop making her own frivolous plans when I have her paid off. But for the time being, she’s a gal on the go.
I cannot tell you how many times we get somewhere and I slam on the breaks and say, “Where the hell am I?” My car’s not telling. She does it on a whim.
I have talked to friends and they say that this has happened to them … this, this, this usurpage of power, this mind-screwing-“hood” trip. They, too, have found themselves late and confused, asking the same damn question, “Where the hell am I?” Lately, it’s a good month if my car doesn’t go off halfcocked at least once. But even on the good days, I know she’s making plans, we’re not fooling each other. At the end of the day when I’m heading up to bed, I can see her sitting there bathed in streetlight, plotting our next detour.
Where are we off to next, I wonder, and how long will it take me to notice this time? God only knows.
Barbara: Ack!! I had no idea where you were going with this, Deb, until about halfway through … and then the lightbulb went off!!
THIS HAS HAPPENED TO ME!!!
It is the weirdest phenomenon. La-di-da, all happily driving along, then, oops, totally wrong side of town (and let me tell you, folks, in a city the size of Toronto, these car-propelled detours are no small inconvenience). At least now I know who to blame. It’s my car, gosh-dangit. And she has a mission of her own.
Okay, Deb, next time this happens, I will calmly pet her soft little dashboard for her silly shenanigans rather than smashing my head repeatedly against the steering wheel!