Luddite

When I bought my last new car, I spent no small amount of time with the manual in one hand (it, not quite as thick as the IRS code) while dumbly punching buttons with the other. My daughter joked that I would learn half the functions by the time I got rid of it. I believe I achieved about 85%. Take that.

It was a far cry from my first new car in ’75. Make that 1975, in case there was a question in your mind. It was simple and actually still had a three-on-the-tree. If you wanted more heat, you just slid the lever further to the side. More fan? Twist the knob another click. Can’t say that you really needed a manual.

I recently completed the process of shopping to replace the technological wonder. I knew precisely what I wanted when it came time to do the deal. However, a killer incentive on existing inventory and the prospect of augmented price and waiting period on a special order compelled me to take one off the lot that had a bit more gingerbread than I needed.

Before I took possession, the young salesman ran me through the quick start course, which probably saves them trouble down the road. How much more complex could it be than my previous technocruiser? Better question. What am I thinking? I mean, it isn’t like you can buy a laptop now without it turning obsolete by the time you reach your garage.

He puts me in the pilot seat and goes around to the other side, giving me a moment to stare it in the eye (dashboard). It looks fairly benign; especially considering the list of functions in the brochure runs on for pages in font I cannot decipher without an electron microscope.

He mounts the co-pilot perch and begins flicking through screens related to audio functions (radio, CD, auxiliary devices, its own gigs of music memory, etc.), climate control, telemetry, maintenance reminders, telephone and a dozen other areas of concentration. His fingers are a blur as he works a four-way rocker with one hand and keys with the other, like he’s propelling Mario through his paces at light speed on a Gameboy. And, his monologue is keeping pace.

My eyes are glazed over by the second screen. So when he gets to the end and asks if there are any questions, I have just one. “Who’s driving while I’m at the work station?”

He says to just use voice commands. Like Captain Kirk? Cool! Except the computer apparently has some problems comprehending the vestiges of a Philadelphia accent. I try 11 o’clock news anchor enunciation and it works a little better.

Then, we get to other control buttons that present me with dazzling choices. Do I want this driving mode locked in or would I prefer to let the computer select? Do I wish to manually operate that or let the servo drive provide the impetus? Would I prefer to operate these through voice command or steering wheel buttons?

Again, one question. How the hell do I know? “Look, for now, if I just move the lever to D and steer, will it get me home where I can make those decisions after having read the manual (and paying a 12-year-old to interpret the technical instruction)?”

“Yes, but you can elect to read the manual, view the supplied DVD or go online to get the information.” Oh good, more decisions.

It didn’t appear to have an ejection seat button so I just shooed him out and engaged warp drive. Miraculously, the star cruiser responded to prosaic pedal depression and steering wheel rotation. I made it home and managed to stop short of the garage door.

Okay, I’m playing the Luddite. I’m sure I’ll use and enjoy most of the conveniences as soon as I learn them.

Which should be right around the time I sell the vehicle.