Saturday, May 29, 2010

BloggeRhythms 5/29/2010

Long holiday weekend, but the blog goes on. Got a comment from a reader yesterday which I responded to twice, in the blog and via email. Suffice it to say, I've typed enough about politics for one day, so I'm going on to something else.

Last night a woman was talking about a car she'd just gotten that "talks." I wasn't really paying that much attention to the specifics, but I guess the vehicle has a system that tells you pertinent information, such as you left your lights on, fuels low, and other stuff like that. I think this one also announces directions if you activate the guidance system -turn left at the corner, go straight ten miles or whatever.

That got me to thinking about the only Japanese import I'd ever used. About thirty years ago, 1980 or so, I had a company car. I got the import because when my lease expired on a Cadillac I was driving at the time, I went to the Lessor to arrange a new contract. My plan was, to get what I was now driving or maybe a Lincoln.

When I arrived at the Lessor's place of business, and stated why I was there, the customer service person said, "We've just gotten this new car in. We're the only people who have it. You've got to see it before you just sign a new lease and take an outdated car." When I inquired about the "outdated" part, I was told that the Japanese were far ahead of us technology wise, and Lincolns and Caddies were old hat.

Though somewhat skeptical, I did agree to at least look at the imported car. And, to my surprise I found out that indeed this car had everything you could think of, doors, locks, windows, sunroof, seats, radio, tape deck, gas cap, windshield wipers and just about everything else were completely automated. Once you programmed all that stuff, the car remembered all your settings and those of three other drivers if need be. I think Bill Gates may have been under the hood.

Well, I'm a salesman to begin with and thus within no time was persuaded to accept this import, because I am capable of very little sales resistance, especially when a spiel is delivered by a pro. So, in no time at all I was behind the wheel of my brand new import. And, I found out that what I'd been told was absolutely true. There were very few of these state-of-the-art little Datsuns on the road.

It only took me a week or so to discover that all-in-all this vehicle was wrong for me. Since it was small, my head frequently hit the roof, so I opened the sun-roof almost no matter the weather. The front seat traveled only a certain distance back, so my legs were always cramped, and if I leaned more than slightly to my right I'd have knocked my wife out of the car. And then I gave up golf because my clubs couldn't fit in the trunk.

Nonetheless, the car did have one really worthwhile feature. It could "speak" to me. And, in its vocabulary was all kinds of information that it happily imparted. Thus, I always knew when the oil needed changing because my vehicle told me so. And, unless I was in the middle of no place, I never ran out of gas. Because my little car reminded me, quite loudly, when the gauge neared empty. It really was amazing as to how much this Datsun had to say about practically everything.

Then one day I was in Manhattan, to call on a client, and parked in an underground garage somewhere in Midtown. When I stopped my car and got out to take a ticket from the parking attendant, I left my keys in the ignition and closed the front door.

I then proceeded up the ramp, to head for my appointment and within a few moments heard hurrying footsteps behind me. I just kept on walking, straight ahead. The footfalls behind me came faster. As I reached the top of the ramp and then turned right I felt a tugging at my sleeve. It was the parking attendant. He was panting, perspiring, and seemed somewhat agitated as he pulled on my jacket sleeve to try to stop me.

I finally stopped and told him I was in a hurry, and didn't have time to stay and chat, but would gladly speak with him later, when I came back from my appointment.

He looked at me, appearing quite bewildered and told me that my car had spoken to him. When he'd opened the door it told him that the keys were in the ignition, in fact. And, he wanted me to know because this was some kind of sign and I had a car that was either blessed or magic and asked if I wanted to come back and hear it.

I looked at him for a moment, never cracked a smile, said, "Cars can't talk" then hurried on to my appointment.

That's it for today folks.

Adios

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