Sometimes it seems that life is out to break you. Other times it hands you a break.
Recently I experienced both situations, each involving machines. And as I am not mechanically inclined, it drove me crazy.
The first incident involved my "new" iMac computer. (Two years old is brand spanking new to someone who still has computers from the mid-1990s.)
When I attempted to log on, a message appeared telling me I wasn't connected to the Internet. When I tightened the cables and lines in the back of the computer, service was restored. But sometimes all I needed to do was raise and lower the window shades.
I didn't question this state of affairs so long as service was restored.
Then came the day when no amount of cable tightening or window-shade-raising worked. I was forced to call the dreaded service department.
People like me with ADD, would rather scrub grout with their toothbrush than deal with service techs. It means being on hands and knees tracking cable lines under the desk, untangling yards of cord that had somehow become entwined with those of the neighboring (and ancient) computer.
Furthermore, tech calls are never brief. Mine lasted an hour — with a call back. After pressing all the buttons and unplugging all the lines per "Danny's" instructions, the situation remained unresolved.
Naturally, I assumed it was my fault. Given today's computers' multiple programs and applications, the opportunities for screwing up are endless.
This time I'd really done it. Danny was putting in a call to Manila. Twenty minutes later he called back with good news: I hadn't been in error; the cable company had screwed up. Apparently when they delivered my modem, they'd given me an outdated model. Its serial number was right, the make was wrong. Over time it had developed glitches.
Manila gave me the thumbs up — a satisfying conclusion.
The next situation involved "Monty," my Mini Cooper Clubman. It turned on me.
The first hint of trouble occurred while idling in a line of cars on Lowell Street in Peabody.
Approaching a traffic light, I coasted to a stop, but Monty had other ideas. He surged, attempting to charge into traffic like a runaway Hummer.
I slammed my foot on the brake and turned off the engine. When the light changed to green, Monty was his usual docile self, while I was a shaking wreck. What was going on?
Unfortunately, the problem happened during the Toyota "surging" disaster. Thus when I logged onto a Mini online forum and explained the situation, some jokester responded with, "Are you sure it's a Mini and not a Lexus?" The forum consensus ruled that Minis were not in the habit of surging. Could I have imagined the incident?
Two days later, while parking outside my studio in Gloucester, Monty rebelled, charging like an enraged bull (the description I gave the tow-truck driver) over a small cement parking barrier with me as hostage. It took all my strength to depress the brake and shut it down.
This time I hadn't imagined it. In fact, several people had turned to stare at the commotion. I was rattled. Could Monty, with his cheerful chocolate and silver exterior, be a demon car like Stephen King's Christine? I was so shaken, I refused the tow-truck driver's request to back Monty up for loading onto the flatbed.
I vowed to never get behind the wheel again.
Watching Monty being hauled away was bittersweet. I was sure we had come to the end of our road. The next day I listened in disbelief as Graham, the head of Mini's service department, gave his findings.
The technicians could discover no sign of surging on Monty's computer (similar to an airplane's black box, I imagine). They did find, however, that a portion of the heavy rubber floor mat was covering the gas pedal.
This was preposterous. I've driven cars for 40 years. Surely I would be aware of a displaced floor mat.
Graham, ever the British gentleman, said, "It's happened to me, luv, don't worry about it."
I wasn't worried so much as embarrassed. Nonetheless, it was with some trepidation that I drove Monty home emerging from the Mini lot onto Route 1, the floor mats securely in place. At each traffic light I turned off the ignition, but I needn't have bothered.
Monty showed no sign of defecting.
I didn't mind confessing my role in the incident. All in all, I think I got a break. I'd rather be thought clueless than own a devil car.
Besides, according to Gandhi, humility is ennobling. As the saying goes: To err is human ... but must you be so human?
• • •
Sharon L. Cook is a freelance writer who lives in Beverly Farms. Her mystery novel, "A Nose for Hanky Panky," by Mainly Murder Press (mainlymurderpress.com), will be released today, Sept. 7. She can be reached at cookie978@ comcast.net.
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