A cousin once told me that in retirement every day is Saturday except Sunday when you go to church.  That’s mostly true, but in retirement Mondays can also be Mondays.    I know because I had one a few months ago.

 

It was the first day of my grandson’s rocking climbing camp and I was on duty to drive him.  I was up early – exercised, showered, fresh clothes, a nice cup of fresh coffee – and in the car wheels rolling a little ahead of schedule.  I was feeling really good about being reliable transport for this 7^th grader – being late is not cool when you are 12.

 

As I reached the end of our street I slowed to take the turn and noticed two men on racing bikes coming from the opposite direction.  They were going way too fast.  Midway through my turn I adjusted my angle to allow for their slight overreach into my lane.  Exactly one second later my car came to a screeching halt as the bikes whizzed by.

 

My beautiful beloved full cup of coffee went everywhere.  All over me, both front seats, the console in-between, the navigation screen on the dash.  It splashed into my ignition button, all the controls on my steering wheel, my cell phone, my purse.  Everything was wet.  Not just wet, sticky wet.  My hands were really sticky, and I hate that.  I pulled over close to the curb, put on my flashers, and reached into the glove box for some napkins.  Which did little to address the mess but at least allowed me to mop my phone screen.  Of course I was wearing white pants and a blue shirt with lots of white on it – I looked more like a Rorschach blot than a Grandma.

 

I didn’t have time to go change, so I took several deep breaths, calmed my wet sticky self and continued on my errand.  I was furious!  As a driver with over 50 years’ experience and an excellent record, I had had the situation well under control.  It was ridiculous, and dangerous, that some “smart braking technology” using an unreasonable perception of danger could slam on my brakes and I couldn’t control it.

 

At my grandson’s house I went in, got a towel, wetted one half really well and left the other half dry.  Came out to car and did my best to address the mess.  My grandson got in, saying “It smells like coffee in here.”  Yes, it did.

 

On the way home, mostly dry but well-stained, I thought about how I have never been a fan of ‘Smart’ Cars.  I don’t hate technology – heck, I’m a writer, who would want to go back to the days of using a typewriter, or – heaven forbid – carbon paper?  I love checking the weather on my phone, or texting to stay in touch with my grands.  Social media lets me keep up with family and friends I don’t see often.  And who doesn’t love DVR and remote control?  But I have never believed that man-made technology could program a car to respond better in unpredictable circumstances than the God-made computers known as human brains.  Maybe instead those geniuses could figure out a way to make humans on bicycles stay in their lane in city traffic.

 

I don’t know if there is a way to disable the fancy smart-brake on my not-fancy car, but this Smart Grandma is going to search for one.