Got a new car. Lots of new technology. But no problem, driving’s driving. Hands on the steering wheel, foot on the accelerator. Just like always. Except for the parking brake. My new Buick Regal has a quarter-inch square button with a miniature “P” on it. That’s it. No parking brake you can see. I would’ve missed it entirely if the salesman hadn’t shown it to me.
Got a new car. Lots of new technology. But no problem, driving’s driving. Hands on the steering wheel, foot on the accelerator. Just like always. Except for the parking brake. My new Buick Regal has a quarter-inch square button with a miniature “P” on it. That’s it. No parking brake you can see. I would’ve missed it entirely if the salesman hadn’t shown it to me.
“You just pull up on it,” he said. I couldn’t see what he did; his finger was bigger than the button but he must’ve pulled it up because a small red “PARK” showed up on the dash with a message behind the steering wheel that said the parking brake had been applied and did we want to dismiss the message but before I could reach over to dismiss anything the message disappeared. The red “PARK” stayed.
“See how easy that was? Now, if you want to take the brake off, press the button down.” He pushed the tiny button down — I guess. I couldn’t see under his finger. The red PARK didn’t disappear; a new message appeared. “You must put your foot on the brake pedal to release the parking brake.” He put his foot on the brake pedal and pressed the tiny button. The red PARK went away and the message said the parking brake had been disengaged and did we want to dismiss the message?
Harder to adjust to was the wonderful backup view. When you put the car in reverse, a video of two orange parallel lines running out into the street behind you shows up on a large screen in the middle of the dash. More orange lines run perpendicular to the parallel lines, making a backward-moving grid. If anything dares enter this grid, you must slam on your brakes before you hit whatever it is.
It’s kind’a hard to look at a moving screen in front of you when you’re steering tons of metal backward but I gave it a good shot the first time — I only turned around once to check the street behind me; otherwise I kept my eyes on the orange grid lines. This got me in big trouble.
“WARNING. You should never take your eyes off the road for more than a few seconds when driving. Serious accidents could result” appeared on the message center screen in the middle of the dash. How did the car know where I was looking? Was there a spy-eye somewhere? Does it recognize my irises? Will it scold anyone with the wrong irises who tries to drive my car, or just me?
Thoroughly chastised, I’m backing up properly now. I look behind me and to the left and to the right—just like I did in my other cars where there was no spy-eye watching me. To make sure I keep the spy-eye happy, I glance at the backup screen once or twice.
Just as I’m getting accustomed to all this new technology, my car sends a message to my cell phone, informing me that its left front tire pressure is down and needs air. I wasn’t even in the car and for sure I hadn’t seen anyone out in the driveway checking the tires. Before the call came in, I was enjoying a few quiet moments at home with the latest news. Okay, maybe I wasn’t enjoying it that much.
The owner’s manual was a great help until I discovered that half the stuff in there isn’t on my car and the options that are, I’d already figured out by trial and error. Lots of error — and no, I’m not looking forward to driving a driverless car. I’ve lost enough control as it is.
