Skip to main content

MODERN TECHNOLOGY AND FOURTY BELOW

 The remote car starter is not modern technology anymore.

It was twelve years ago, when my wife had one in a Hyundai Santa Fe.

One day, while she was at work, a gentleman came into the store that she managed, and exclaimed,

"who owns the blue Santa Fe? It keeps starting over and over!"

I lost all faith in 'modern' tech that day. 

My wife's next auto was another Santa Fe, without the tech. In fact her remote starter was a certain man who would brave minus 40, risk piles from hell by sitting on a frozen, rock hard, seat, and crank and curse, breath the raw gas fumes, cross his fingers at the misfires, until that piece of crap started.

That "certain" man was me. The human remote starter. The greatest technology of all.


My wife now owns a Nissan with the push a button technical marvel. She loves it. I am not so sure.


I have not lost my job as remote starter, though these days most of my chore is done from the warm side of the window.

"Beep. Honk. Click. Zoom!"

This morning I was questioned by the boss, after I dressed for the weather and went outside to start an SUV that had sat in sub-zero temperatures for four days.

"You can use the remote!"

I ignored her. Sometimes being hard of hearing is your friend.


I am old school. I like to hear the starter work and the engine fire. I need to know if I can expect pieces of piston rings showing up in the oil pan because the start was too cold and dry for even today's modern technology. I want to know that the vehicle is going to find a comfortable idle in the cold, and not stall when my back is turned. 

Yes. Old school. And no regrets for my lack of modern technical understanding.


It's supposed to warm up this afternoon.

Minus 22 is going to feel like living in the banana belt.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Heartbreak Comes At Us From All Sizes

 I'm going to blame it on the smoke, but in reality the smoke lifted early last evening, around the same time the rain that was supposed to fall didn't. I was choked up as I removed the nest this morning. I won't admit to having tears in my eyes, and if you had caught me I would have admitted to no more than smoke and allergies. Men don't cry over the most crushing of events. We certainly don't cry over the death of a baby bird.  Allergies, you know. This spring a pair of barn swallows began spending time around the house, perching on the rope light above the deck, outside the kitchen window.  My wife first, and then me, would chatter at them, try to imitate their language, through the window. When we sat on the deck we would talk our version of swallow as they flew by, and pretty soon they became comfortable, and would join us while we were sipping wine or having morning coffee. Them, perched on the rope lights, just out of the reach of the weird apes, and us down ...

The Art Worlds Last Stand?

 I was pissed off that the wait for a lumbering freight at a highway 7 level crossing, west of Saskatoon, was over 15 minutes, but I was entertained by the slide show that rolled past.  I would have taken photos of the show but I wasn't prepared to enjoy an on my phone ticket from the officer in the RCMP cruiser that was waiting in the lane to my right. This blog is a fun mess, but there is no possible way I can afford a ticket just to enhance the visuals.   Photos would have been nice. There are very talented people tagging the train cars. You will see the most colourful, most graphically precise work on a car. That is the Journeyperson tagger.  And then maybe two or ten cars down, past varying levels of work and prose, you will see it in sprayed black scrawl. "Fuck" The apprentice speaks. Well, we all had to start somewhere. I give these people credit. It must take a considerable amount of hutzpah to hang out in rail yards, trying to find enough light to do your be...

New Grey Hairs And Funeral Clothes

 "The last time I saw you you didn't have grey hair." As much as that statement kicked my ass, only fools argue with the blatant truth. I dressed nice. The minute I walked into the venue I regretted it. "I hope it's a quick service. I'm going to melt." I didn't melt, but my deodorant failed. It was 95 degrees F. in the shade.  It was dead still and stifling hot in the packed auditorium.  My jacket came off before I was seated. I would have taken off my pants but for funeral decorum. I dress nice out of respect. I will not wear a tie, but in my suit, shirt and hat I do look mighty fine.  I have never embarrassed myself  because of the way I dress up.  Except perhaps I did yesterday. When did it become standard practice to slob it down for funerals? Shorts? T-shirts? "Do you own a razor, there Chumley?" As I walked into the 100 degree venue a random T-shirt commented with sarcasm,  "you look good." I wanted to tell him to piss off a...