The other night, after attending Wednesday prayer meeting, I returned home and parked my game of catch in the driveway. While doing so, something strange happened with my fairly new pickup. With the two of us outside in the driveway, the truck locked all four doors. This was followed by the usual beeping sound and the flashing of lights, as if I’d pushed the button on the keys.
Thinking I’d accidently hit the button in my pocket while playing with an extremely energetic dog, I took the keys out and pushed the button unlocking the doors. In less than a minute, the truck once again locked itself, with all the bells and whistles going off - and I knew I hadn’t touched the button.
Ball playing was over, so I turned my attention to a truck that seemed to feel it was being neglected, and was seeking a way to get me to play with it. After unlocking the doors again and opening them to see if something was causing this strange reaction, and finding nothing out of the ordinary, I closed the doors and put the keys down on a shelf. Both Ranger and I waited to see if Pearl (that’s what I call my truck) wanted to play some more. Sure enough, within 30 or so seconds after closing the doors, the lights flashed, the truck beeped, and all the doors locked tight! Pearl was making it known that she wanted to play with Ranger and me.
After several more times of unlocking, checking, locking, beeping, and feeling creeped out, I decided it was time to reboot Pearl’s computer before she decided she wanted to take me for a spin in the country against my will.
I got in the truck (Ranger, who loves to ride, refused to get in with me), closed the door, and started the engine. All the gadgets and lights came on, as they should, along with the XM radio, which was playing “Highway to the Danger Zone” from “Top Gun” (which I thought was odd). It seemed that everything was normal and the computer had made its complete cycle, so I turned the engine off and stepped out of the truck with key in hand and waited.
Ranger and I waited for several minutes with no more door locking and beeping from Pearl. Later that evening while watching “Jag,” I checked the Internet and found that some other truck owners reported the same problem, but on a much more regular time pattern. Pearl seemed to just want to get in on the ball playing with Ranger.
I miss the simple vehicles of days gone by. You locked those by pushing the button down on the door (although out where I live, you never locked them anyway). Today’s computers have taken the shade tree mechanic out of most of us, and if you have to take your vehicle in for repairs, they get hooked up to other computers that are in cahoots with your car’s computer to say there’s nothing wrong. Then, those computers hook up with the computers in the office, which makes out the bill that finally goes to the head cahootor of them all - the cash register.
What I’d give for a vehicle I could understand. I’d also like to have back the days when a service station provided what the first part of its name implied - service. Back in those days, when you pulled up to the pump, a young man with his name on his shirt would greet you with a smile and ask that all-important question: “Fill ‘er up?” He’d then proceed to put either high-test or regular gasoline in your tank and move almost in a run to the front of your car. After searching for the hood latch, he’d raise the car’s hood and grab the dipstick to check the oil in the engine. While there, he’d also feel the hoses and belts to see if they were safe to get you on down the road. After slamming the hood shut, he’d take out a gray shop rag from his back pocket and wipe off his handprints from the hood. Usually the shop rag was also greasy, but it was the thought that counted.
Next, in almost one motion, he’d grab a squeegee from a bucket of water and, using the same rag he wiped off your hood with, he’d clean your windshield. After completing all of these assignments, he’d finish filling your tank, and if you purchased at least ten gallons of gas, you could even receive a cup with the station’s logo on it or a bank shaped like a dinosaur to put your saved pennies in. Of course, that was back when a penny was saved and not left to be smashed into the pavement in area parking lots.
Those days are gone. I guess I’ll just have to let Pearl play catch.
Pettus L. Read writes for the Tennessee Farm Bureau Federation. He may be contacted at pettusr60@gmail.com.
The other night, after attending Wednesday prayer meeting, I returned home and parked my game of catch in the driveway. While doing so, something strange happened with my fairly new pickup. With the two of us outside in the driveway, the truck locked all four doors. This was followed by the usual beeping sound and the flashing of lights, as if I’d pushed the button on the keys.
Thinking I’d accidently hit the button in my pocket while playing with an extremely energetic dog, I took the keys out and pushed the button unlocking the doors. In less than a minute, the truck once again locked itself, with all the bells and whistles going off - and I knew I hadn’t touched the button.
Ball playing was over, so I turned my attention to a truck that seemed to feel it was being neglected, and was seeking a way to get me to play with it. After unlocking the doors again and opening them to see if something was causing this strange reaction, and finding nothing out of the ordinary, I closed the doors and put the keys down on a shelf. Both Ranger and I waited to see if Pearl (that’s what I call my truck) wanted to play some more. Sure enough, within 30 or so seconds after closing the doors, the lights flashed, the truck beeped, and all the doors locked tight! Pearl was making it known that she wanted to play with Ranger and me.
After several more times of unlocking, checking, locking, beeping, and feeling creeped out, I decided it was time to reboot Pearl’s computer before she decided she wanted to take me for a spin in the country against my will.
I got in the truck (Ranger, who loves to ride, refused to get in with me), closed the door, and started the engine. All the gadgets and lights came on, as they should, along with the XM radio, which was playing “Highway to the Danger Zone” from “Top Gun” (which I thought was odd). It seemed that everything was normal and the computer had made its complete cycle, so I turned the engine off and stepped out of the truck with key in hand and waited.
Ranger and I waited for several minutes with no more door locking and beeping from Pearl. Later that evening while watching “Jag,” I checked the Internet and found that some other truck owners reported the same problem, but on a much more regular time pattern. Pearl seemed to just want to get in on the ball playing with Ranger.
I miss the simple vehicles of days gone by. You locked those by pushing the button down on the door (although out where I live, you never locked them anyway). Today’s computers have taken the shade tree mechanic out of most of us, and if you have to take your vehicle in for repairs, they get hooked up to other computers that are in cahoots with your car’s computer to say there’s nothing wrong. Then, those computers hook up with the computers in the office, which makes out the bill that finally goes to the head cahootor of them all - the cash register.
What I’d give for a vehicle I could understand. I’d also like to have back the days when a service station provided what the first part of its name implied - service. Back in those days, when you pulled up to the pump, a young man with his name on his shirt would greet you with a smile and ask that all-important question: “Fill ‘er up?” He’d then proceed to put either high-test or regular gasoline in your tank and move almost in a run to the front of your car. After searching for the hood latch, he’d raise the car’s hood and grab the dipstick to check the oil in the engine. While there, he’d also feel the hoses and belts to see if they were safe to get you on down the road. After slamming the hood shut, he’d take out a gray shop rag from his back pocket and wipe off his handprints from the hood. Usually the shop rag was also greasy, but it was the thought that counted.
Next, in almost one motion, he’d grab a squeegee from a bucket of water and, using the same rag he wiped off your hood with, he’d clean your windshield. After completing all of these assignments, he’d finish filling your tank, and if you purchased at least ten gallons of gas, you could even receive a cup with the station’s logo on it or a bank shaped like a dinosaur to put your saved pennies in. Of course, that was back when a penny was saved and not left to be smashed into the pavement in area parking lots.
Those days are gone. I guess I’ll just have to let Pearl play catch.
Pettus L. Read writes for the Tennessee Farm Bureau Federation. He may be contacted at pettusr60@gmail.com. v