The name was faintly offensive, but that was the least of my worries as the hulking automotive battleship hove into view.
I’d reserved a midsize SUV from Budget at the Cleveland airport, large enough to haul the load I needed to transport to DC. After some sparring at the rental counter (“We don’t have any of those” – “But I reserved one” – “Well, we don’t have any”), they had produced the Jeep, filthy and smelling of smoke, and left it at the door of the rental facility with its engine running.
Even though I own and drive a car, I don’t love them. Where others may see power, prestige and luxury, I see a gigantic killing machine. The Grand Cherokee seemed particularly intimidating. I normally drive a 2006 Corolla, small, nimble and parkable in our urban neighborhood; the Jeep was twice the size of that. True, I piloted my dad’s Subaru Forester across Ontario last summer, and as I liked to joke, I only hit one other car. That joke was now seeming less funny.
The late-model Jeep had none of the familiar dashboard controls, nor even a key. Instead, buttons with mysterious icons surrounded a digital screen, which flashed yet more icons. There were buttons on the steering column, ceiling and doors. The icons were unreadable in the darkness, but I needed to move on out, as cars were lining up behind me. I eased gingerly off the lot. No sooner had I pulled onto the Ohio freeway than I realized the dome lights were on and blinding me. How to turn them off? I jabbed frantically at the buttons surrounding them. The lights stayed on, but to my horror, the sunroof slid open and the cold night air roared in.
Why was this so hard? Half the country is driving these vehicles. Was I that decrepit and out of touch? I seemed to be leaving my third age behind and hurtling full speed toward my fourth. I’m not a technophobe. I use computers every day. But a computer in a car, forcing me to take my eyes off the road and tap my way through multiple screens to do simple operations like adjust the heat – that’s a bridge too far for me.
Later that night, at my dad’s retirement cottage, we loaded the Jeep with some of his surplus furniture plus a cherrywood bed frame that my daughter Cynthia had driven down from Toronto for me. The next morning she and I inspected the SUV’s controls in the daylight. She hooked up my phone to the digital display so I could run GoogleMaps for navigation and Pandora for music. Then it was time for me to drive eight hours from Ohio to DC.
And drive I did. Somewhere past the Ohio-Pennsylvania line, I relaxed my death grip on the wheel and began to enjoy the ride. The Jeep had legroom, I’ll grant that.
The last hurdle was parallel parking on our tightly packed block in DC. But the Fates opened up two adjoining spaces for me, and I backed carefully in. After unloading the furniture and refueling the Jeep, I pulled into the Budget in-town lot, heaved a sigh of relief, and savored my third-age victory.
Oh, and the dome lights? Just push on ‘em. Nothing to it.
I laughed out loud when you opened the sun roof! Very glad you made the journey safely!
I am so glad you made it safely back to DC. I could relate. We have a Prius and I still haven’t mastered the bells and whistles. I am told it is worth it.