Beep, beep, beep

Like many of us, I drive absolutely n.o.w.h.e.r.e. of late.  Friends are virtual. Doctors are virtual. Errands and groceries can be virtual if we let them. Unlike driving, car insurance does not go away.

After buying a tank of gas or less a month for the last two months, I decided to show them how little I drive and how low my insurance rate therefore should be. I asked my agent to sign me up for that Progressive program that involves plugging a little device into the appropriate spot on the dashboard.

"Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?" he asked me. That little device records everything about your driving. And I answered they were welcome to know everything. I've been a driver since I was seventeen. Though I've been involved in an accident, I've never caused one. I'll show them!

So, the little thing arrived. The internet showed me where to plug in on my car. Since I can no longer stand on my head, I drove it down the road to my mechanic, who could bend over adequately to plug it in. It was working, it went Beep, Beep, Beep when I left the shop.

I live off a 45 m.p.h. road. If I can, I make the left hand turn onto my street as efficiently as possible, so not to slow the traffic behind me too much. Which means making the turn while still braking. Which causes the little Road Runner under the dash to say "Beep!"

The first time I heard it, I understood it, but I certainly did not agree with it. "Fuck you!" I said. "I have a train behind me." I came home and looked up my report page, and there it was, "Hard brakes!" My only other possible sin at this point could be "Fast acceleration," and that's something I can never remember doing.

Since the Road Runner has been down there, checking up on me, I've left my drive twice, in a week. Yet it reports I've taken sixteen trips. I finally decided it counts every time I restart the car a trip. Stop for gas, another trip.

I've also been nicked for hard brakes five times. It's heard from me all five times, too. Coming back from the dentist today, it got me at least three times. One was the turn onto my street, of course. 

But it also got me for merging onto one of those exits you see all over New Jersey, and several times on my interstates, too. A usual exit lane onto a 25 m.p.h. circular exit to another freeway. I will never slow my car to 25 m.p.h. in a lane of 65 m.p.h. traffic. That's why my car has brakes.

So, I will stick this thing, and yell at it fairly often, I think. I want to see what this ride is about. Won't it have a fit, if I still have it, when I go to Ann's this summer.

Here is the allium pot, when I came home today.