Over the past 30 years there have been substantial improvements in vehicular design that have significantly improved the comfort and safety of the motoring experience for the better.
Satellite navigation has finally put an end to the horrible cliché of men getting lost and not wanting to ask for directions. Reverse cameras have made “accidentally” backing over Little Jimmy’s toys in the driveway a less viable lie. Kids no longer need to tire themselves out by developing their own imaginations to pass away countless hours of back seat travel; they can watch someone else’s imagination at work via Woody and Buzz in the back of Mum and Dad’s headrests.
And cup holders are a great way to hold a beverage while driving.
But there is one heinous abomination of modern vehicular technology that makes me long for the days when cars were simply steam powered boxes on wheels and not fitted with all of these modern trimmings.
And that one thing is this.
If I want to be ever so slightly self destructive when I drive the 3 minute journey to the store and not wear a seatbelt, perhaps to bring a little excitement into the mundane monotony of my modern existence, IT’S MY GODDAMN PEROGATIVE!
But I can’t, the car won’t let me. There’s a continuous BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP that doesn’t stop until I belt up. It’s ridiculous! The car audibly tortures me until I capitulate to it’s demands.
In essence, the very machines we have built to serve us are now browbeating us into submission.
Alarm clocks suck because they share the same frustratingly unrelenting BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP modus operandi these cars have, and also because they are the direct adversary of glorious sleep. But at least the alarm clock is doing what we’ve asked it to do.
Why the hell does my car tell me what to do without me asking it to? It’s like an electronic version of my mother when I was a kid.
The most outlandish thing about this mind-blowingly dystopian situation is that the car is too dumb to differentiate between an inanimate object and a human being. It will start its insistent BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP if I have anything mildly heavy on the front passenger seat; like a parcel, groceries or a large potted plant.
The car is kinda like that one friend we all have who thinks they’re intelligent enough to talk about the intricacies of global politics and will give you their non-researched opinions without even being asked. Yet, in reality, they have no idea what the hell they’re talking about.
Get your shit right or shut the hell up!
Interestingly the car doesn’t have the same amount of unrepentant concern for the passengers in the back-seat. You could stack a pallet of bricks made from whale/elephant hybrids and the densest part of Mercury’s core onto the back seat and no BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP will be emitted to force seat-belt compliance.
As far as the car is concerned “Good luck back-seat passengers, you’re on your own.”
In researching this article, and by researching I mean vaguely perusing google images for pictures that I can write a somewhat amusing sentence beneath, I found these simple John Connor like devices that circumvent the cars intelligence.
I’m honestly not sure if they’re the greatest invention since the cup holder or the most dangerously stupid thing I’ve ever seen.
Regardless, cars reminding us to do something that we have deliberately chosen not to do is insulting, infuriating and it sucks.