Look, I don't want to complain (who am I kidding? I'm a columnist. We're literally compensated to complain), but my car is starting to nag me.
And not even subtly with those little noises and pings and things that happen when you don't close the door or don't fasten your seatbelt or forget to put oil in the engine (OK, maybe more than a "ping" there). No, this is bordering on actual physical assault.
All right, not actually physical assault. I mean, the seat bottom vibrates sharply and unpleasantly when I get too close to something for the vehicle's liking. So, yes, my car can be a pain in the -- you know.
In truth it's not even a little "assault-y." Slightly less sting in that area than I got from my parents for running through the house and unintentionally taking a lamp with me (at least until it hit the floor), definitely less than the shock I got when my brother, repeatedly, got me to grab the electric fence around the pasture at my grandmother's house that kept the horses out of the garden we were supposed to be weeding.
Yes, I know: the first time was kind of funny and the second time was kind of cruel, but the third, fourth and fifth times I did it, I was just being an idiot. And that wasn't on him.
But back to the car. It "reminds." Sort of like my mother, except that, since my mother didn't actually drive, she very seldom offered tips about operating an auto and was content to sit in the passenger seat, point out different birds and mention arcane points of local history.
I could handle it if my car did that. I mean, I already know how to say "um hum" and "huh" and "well imagine that." And frankly, I sort of miss doing it. But that's another column for another time.
To some degree, I am used to appliances and things "reminding" me that whatever it is I'm doing I probably need to stop or start or -- something. My watch has been "reminding" me I need to stand up or close those rings or some other thing that's likely good for me for a bit.
But that seems more of the vague attempts of a personal trainer whose heart really isn't in it (or who knows it can easily be stuffed in a sock drawer and forgotten about, since I can always tell the time on my phone. Which also sort of nags me).
The other day I left the refrigerator door open for a bit, for the very good reason that I got to doing something else and forgot all about it, and the appliance started to ding. Which was annoying but a lot less unpleasant than my father asking if my plan was to cool off the whole neighborhood.
So in a way, all of this is like still having your family around. And remembering that's not always without its challenges.
But, again, back to the car. Which has taken (as in, "came that way from the factory") to buzzing when I get too close to things or dinging when I forget to close things or sending me not too subtle messages that, potentially, I should quit swerving from lane to lane (as one does when trying to navigate traffic in a region where lots of folks have apparently decided that the center lane is actually the slow lane or that they needed to take their nearly-empty-except-for-the-loose-gravel-filled trailers out for a drive).
I will also pause to share that, when recounting these unfortunate features to other people, the response I get most frequently (besides the eye rolls or blank stares) is that well, you can just turn that off. I mention this because a). people say that but never actually know how, and b). you can't.
Now, to me this is, in addition to being annoying, a reminder that I sit squarely on the cusp of so many things. I knew something was wrong with my first autos when they didn't start or caught fire. Now, my auto continuously monitors my tire pressure.
I know, not as significant as the fact my grandmother came to Oklahoma in a covered wagon and lived to watch men walk on the moon. There are apparently lots of cusps, of varying degrees of significance.
And the car is safer. So, I guess I'm all for progress. If only it wasn't such a pain in the -- you know.