In an epoch where artificial intelligence and smart appliances are the fated norm, I stand here today to share an exceptional tale. A tale of me, the driver and my car, the dazzling newbie teacher with a disturbing obsession for line alignment aka. Lane Assist that, contrary to its name, is more lane direct, or insist, if we’re being honest.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I embrace technology. I don’t lean back against the steady gale winds of progress. But I also believe vehicles must retain their place, as humble servants, not overbearing nannies clucking and jabbering about my driving capabilities.
Tales tells of an era when cars were content to be just cars. They tolerated our lousy strength-to-weight ratios, our tiny energy-efficient engines, and our doofus human drivers who insisted on controlling everything manually. But that seems like a heyday of long-gone yesteryears, an ancient history that my spanking new car seems not to acknowledge.
You see, my car, apart from being the shiny beast on wheels, takes pride in its Lane Assist function. Yes, you did hear me right.
As I’m cruising down the highway, feeling all Fast and Furious, it happens…I ease half an inch towards the verge of my lane by accident (or, perchance – testing out my car’s reactions), my car jolts like it’s seen the highway apocalypse. A displeased beep chimes to life, the steering wheel gives a sanctimonious wiggle, and to twist the knife, I get served, to my utter horror, an image of a delicate little coffee cup telling me I’m tired.
Oh! The sweet sarcasm of the animated objects speak volumes of the technological prowess. I scoff at the smug coffee mug.
“I am not tired, Car,” I hiss through clenched teeth, “I am exasperated.”
Alas! My car, with its star-studded array of sensors and cameras, can spot a hint of a lane-line infidelity but ask it to sense a crater moonlighting as a pothole, and it goes blinder than a bat at sunrise. But that doesn’t stop it from passing its sage judgement on my lane discipline.
Here, in the confines of my car, I never expected to receive unsolicited driving advice. Who knew we’d progress to the point where we’d have to deal with automotive passive agression? Lovely.
And in case any enterprising automobile industry folks are eavesdropping via the wireless wonderland, my two cents – a vehicle is not a boot camp sergeant or a snooty boarding school matron. I, for one, did not buy it for its irritatingly significant opinions about my driving.
Ah, I yearn for simpler times. Or at least, for the ability to punch an off button on this back-seat driver. So, buckle up, treasured readers. Next time you get stuck with a chatty automotive assistant, remember – I told you so.
