Saturday, July 28, 2012

bad robot

Twice this week, my plans have squashed due to my malfunctioning finicky asshole of an automotive. Don't get me wrong, I love my brown van with every shred of my being, but sometimes you grow weary and upset with the antics of your loved ones, even robot cars.
I'm sure the hoff knows what I'm talkin about.
 On Friday, I went outside to start my vehicle and it would crank up, but wouldn't move after several attempts. Because it wouldn't even recognize that I was in park, my ramp wouldn't deploy either. Double bummer. To normal car drivers, this would be an easy fix: call around and find a deal with a local mechanic. For those wheelchair peeps that drive robot cars, you usually only have one choice of mechanic and they seriously have a monopoly on repair work because the idea of working on something operated by a touch screen scares most handy-men shitless.
apparently this makes people crap their pants.
 I can't even get an oil change at most places because their insurance won't allow me to drive onto the racks, and there's no way they really can. Luckily, I have a good relationship with the place I ordered my vehicle from, only problem being my regular mechanic, who can usually diagnose and help me fix the problem over the phone, was outta town so I had to get it towed there by AAA anyone and fixed by his substitute. 

After $70 dollars for towing, I was reminded that AAA tow truck drivers are also scared of robo cars. Mostly because if its being finicky, you can't put it in neutral. All those adaptive contraptions and hydrolics weigh a ton (quite literally), so they have to manually have to drag it, sparks flyin', onto the dolly. Its a spectacle.

I got the call Friday afternoon that my car was finished so my dad went to pick it up for me. [Tangent: It has a seat you can slide into the space where my wheelchair usually goes. My van is also equipped with gas and break pedals so non wheeled ones can operate it if necessary. My dad still has to use my turn table steering wheel though, which is I'm sure a bit unnerving if you aren't accustomed to it. For that reason, only my father is designated to drive it besides myself. I'll have him give my ginger the full tutorial soon. My mom would, but she doesn't really even love driving her car that much, and besides her feet don't reach the pedals.]

a view of my steering wheel/turn table

The newly "fixed" car drove from point A (the mechanic) to point B (my house), so the villagers rejoiced.

All seemed rectified, but when I tried to start it to drive to my friend Binkley's Star Wars theme costume party birthday [Tangent: So nerdy. I love it!], I realized the battery was dead. Alas, my Ewok costume constructed out of things in my closet would have to go to waste and I would be quarantined at the house to write this blog. This revelation especially sucked because I just got a new battery in January, after watching my mechanic curse and pry the old one out for roughly 2 hours, because some design genius mounted to the primary battery under all my adaptive computer battery equipment. So basically you had to know the secret of the labyrinth to get to it.  Here's hoping some serious overnight charging and inordinate amounts of good vibes will return me to "truckin'" status come daybreak.

Anyone that is looking to start their own business, I implore you to go into adaptive automotives. There is a huge market and you can just create your own price points...because well, you can.  Additionally, big ass mom vans with ramps cost as much as Lambourghinis. You can thank me by buying me a sweet new ride when you hit it big. 
 ...but in the meantime, I will have to keep putting up with this brat till his wheels completely fall off. 

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