My school visit in Denver was great because I got to stay with my brother and his family. My nephew made me play Dance Revolution, and yeah, I pretty much stink at that. (Just what the world needed: one more way for teenagers to humiliate their elders.)
My brother let me drive his swanky BMW to the school. It had all sorts of bells and whistles I’m not used to. (For example it was keyless and the garage door opener was built into the car on the bottom of the rear view mirror.)
When I turned it on to leave in the morning I noticed the brake light was on. I sat there, looking for the emergency brake. I finally found it, but it was off. I tapped the brakes thinking that maybe I was supposed to do that as part of the whole keyless routine.
The light still didn’t turn off.
I called my brother’s cell phone, but got no answer.
I tried both of the brakes again then pushed a few random buttons.
The light didn’t turn off and all I could think was, “Great. The BMW makers have put a third brake somewhere on this car and I don’t know where it is, and I’m going to ruin my brother’s car when I drive it.”
Stupid new technology.
Well, okay, for those of you who think I’m an idiot for believing a car maker would put a third brake on a car—let me tell you about my new laptop. I still don’t know how to work it because there is so much new technology. Seriously. The spellcheck has been buried somewhere under all sorts of new functions. I can’t even find the ruler to make paragraph indentations. What was Bill Gates thinking?
So finally I had to drive off because I knew I would be late otherwise, and who knew when my brother would get out of his morning meeting. (Sometimes my husband’s morning meetings last into the evening.)
I drove, like 20 miles an hour all the way there. While cars whizzed by me–cursing, I’m sure–I tried to send them telepathic messages that it really wasn’t my fault, It was BMWs for being too brake-happy.
Then I called my brother between every presentation because I didn’t want to have to drive home with the brake still on.
Finally I got ahold of him. It seems the BMW was just telling him it was time to have his brakes serviced. No third brake. The rest of you knew that all along, didn’t you? But then, the rest of you can probably play Dance Revolution too.