Ignore the fall fix-it list; distract yourself with a new car

Now that you’ve gotten your coronavirus routine down pat, wearing a face mask, social distancing and enough sanitizer to sterilize that whole ZIP code, it may be time to turn to another crisis – your house.

Apparently, the infrastructure never got the memo. Things are peeling, dry rot is threatening the one beam holding the house up, and a colony of ants has taken up its own residence in your new, refurbished kitchen cabinets. Having surveyed the impending damage, I took the only rational course of action, and went out and bought a car.

I really dislike going to car dealerships. For people like me, the atmosphere is very intimidating. It’s not that the salespeople aren’t pleasant; I just feel like I did when I took the SAT exam way back in high school, clueless. And that was right from the first question on the test, which was: What is your name?

Anyway, I have only two requirements for a car. One, is that it will start and two, that it will stop. Nothing complicated. Hey, there’s nothing wrong with an old-fashioned hand signal out the window of a car with no air-conditioning. Besides, you are sure to get a lot of different hand signals back from irate drivers behind you.

Those were the days. You only had one car, no credit cards since everything was paid in cash, and the Gillette Friday Night Fights on television.

But today’s cars are very high tech. They do everything for you, including filing your income taxes and applying for Medicare. There are so many options included on the dashboard, you feel like you are commanding the Starship Enterprise.

Sure, I walked around the dealership, kicking tires and peering into windows; I’ve seen it done on television. Eventually, a very nice young man came out to help me. No doubt he was the loser of a rock, paper, scissors challenge as to who would wait on me.

I’m so intimidated by what’s under the hood of a car, as soon as the salesman showed up I said, I’ll take it. He had to remind me that was the car I drove in with.

Finally, he had me sit in a beautiful vehicle and go for a test drive. One the first items to check off is the seat adjustment for your height and weight. As soon as I did this, the dashboard flashed a notice that said, “Are you kidding me?”

Next, we went on to putting the gearshift in reverse. At the same time, a display blinked on the dashboard screen. This was new for me. I’m used to twisting my neck to look behind me. I can tell by the screams and pedestrians diving for cover that I am on the right path.

The ride was smooth and quiet. Not to worry, though, the car has researched your background and knows you haven’t had this much silence since your last child went off to college. It automatically will go into nod-off mode and basically drive itself into the nearest drive-through Starbucks and order a large double coffee with extra foam and a shot of Red Bull.

Back at the dealership, we go over the numbers, which basically equals the budget of a Third World country. It was a little difficult to make sense of these papers, mainly because of all the sweat pouring off the salesman, who assured me I did well on my test drive; it’s just that he was thinking of changing professions, like maybe becoming a doctor.

A week later, I was back in the saddle in my new vehicle, clueless about half the items. But the horn works, I still can go into ramming speed, and I haven’t forgotten how to merge in a one-inch space. It’s a good thing.