If so, then perhaps you can relate... and maybe help me explain a few things...
It all started on May 17... I was driving through the Walmart parking lot, minding my own business, when a 50-foot light pole sprang up out of the concrete and made my car hit it. How I managed to not see it coming, I will never know. One second I had a clear path -- or so I thought -- and the next, WHAM! Now, as a rule, I don't go around hitting stationary objects with my vehicle. Deviation from the norm Number One. (Well, there was that time when I was 17 and driving at night for the first time, got mesmerized by the headlight glow shrinking as I approached the wall of the store and forgot to hit the brakes before connecting with said wall. But Dad forgave me and we traded in the car on one that didn't have a cracked power steering disc somewhere in the steering column and all was right with the world again.)
But back to last month... No humans were injured in the screwing up of my Friday, only my left front tire, left front fender and, as it turned out, one of the mounting brackets that holds the engine securely inside my car. After calling my daughter's school to let her know that I would not be joining her for our weekly lunch date, I went into Walmart, hoping someone in the Tire Center would be able to remove the flat one and put on the spare. They were happy to do so, but company policy prevented them from doing it in the parking lot. This meant I had to drive (read: crawl slower than a three-legged arthritic turtle) from the far corner of the parking lot around to the opposite side of the store, a trip that was roughly the equivalent of two city blocks but felt more like two country miles. And only God knew what kind of additional damage I might have been doing to parts unseen in the underbelly of my wounded vehicle. I have never been so happy to see a car repair bay in my life.
It was after the tire had been changed, a service that cost me exactly five dollars (I nearly kissed the young woman at the tire service counter, but managed to restrain myself), that the next weird thing happened. One of the mechanics informed me that my headlights would not turn off. What's weird about that, you ask? Well, no one, neither I nor anyone in the tire center, had ever turned them ON. Not only did they illuminate all by themselves, they went straight to high beams, according to the little blue 'idiot' light on the dashboard. So there sat my car, the engine turned off, the headlight switch clearly in the OFF position and the headlights beaming brightly against the store window, big as life. I could practically hear the energy draining out of the battery.
Fortunately, the car repair shop recommended by my insurance agent (we chatted while the magnificent mechanics at Wally World changed my tire) was just a few traffic lights down the road and I made it there without further incident, but with the headlights still operating with minds of their own. Now, to be fair, the potential for battery drainage worked to my advantage in that it qualified as an 'emergency' repair and allowed the shop to take the car in late on a Friday afternoon. The service manager informed me that insurance companies generally frown on this because it means the car will sit essentially untouched until Monday, while I rack up rental car charges all weekend at insurance company expense. I assure you, at this point, I didn't give a damn about what State Farm did or did not frown upon.
Fourteen days and a $500 deductible later, I picked up my fully restored ride and bid farewell to the repair shop...until the next day, when I took it back due to -- you guessed it -- phantom headlight syndrome. And that's when I learned about the other wacky thing: the lights turned themselves off. Switches? Who needs those? Why not just have the headlights, high beams and all, come on as soon as the car starts and then turn off again about ten minutes after the car shuts down (which, oddly enough, is what was happening)? Well, I'll tell you why. Because I live in Texas, and I sometimes drive at night. It's not unheard of here in the Lone Star state for gunplay to erupt as a result of traffic faux pas, such as blinding drivers in oncoming vehicles with one's high beams.
Which brings us to today. Upon more careful inspection by 'our electrical guy', who apparently only gets called in on the really tough cases, the culprit turns out to be a broken turn signal lever. You know, that little arm that sticks out from the steering column that works the turn signals if you flip it up or down, and turns the high beams on and off if you pull it toward you. The very lever that I told the service manager felt 'squishy, like it's not connecting' on Day One of this adventure and was all but patted on the head and told to let the grown ups be the judge of what was or wasn't squishy. To his credit, this latest repair cost me nothing except a day without my car, a price I was glad to pay to regain total control over my headlights, thus becoming a courteous low-beam driver once again. To my credit, I never used the words 'I', 'told', 'you' or 'so', at least not in that order. Definitely not the norm for me.
So, now that the mystery of the self-operating headlights is solved, my dear Scooby gang, shall we tackle the problem of how replacing a broken shower nozzle led to the hot and cold water switching sides... all by themselves? No, on second thought, that is another story...
But back to last month... No humans were injured in the screwing up of my Friday, only my left front tire, left front fender and, as it turned out, one of the mounting brackets that holds the engine securely inside my car. After calling my daughter's school to let her know that I would not be joining her for our weekly lunch date, I went into Walmart, hoping someone in the Tire Center would be able to remove the flat one and put on the spare. They were happy to do so, but company policy prevented them from doing it in the parking lot. This meant I had to drive (read: crawl slower than a three-legged arthritic turtle) from the far corner of the parking lot around to the opposite side of the store, a trip that was roughly the equivalent of two city blocks but felt more like two country miles. And only God knew what kind of additional damage I might have been doing to parts unseen in the underbelly of my wounded vehicle. I have never been so happy to see a car repair bay in my life.
It was after the tire had been changed, a service that cost me exactly five dollars (I nearly kissed the young woman at the tire service counter, but managed to restrain myself), that the next weird thing happened. One of the mechanics informed me that my headlights would not turn off. What's weird about that, you ask? Well, no one, neither I nor anyone in the tire center, had ever turned them ON. Not only did they illuminate all by themselves, they went straight to high beams, according to the little blue 'idiot' light on the dashboard. So there sat my car, the engine turned off, the headlight switch clearly in the OFF position and the headlights beaming brightly against the store window, big as life. I could practically hear the energy draining out of the battery.
Fortunately, the car repair shop recommended by my insurance agent (we chatted while the magnificent mechanics at Wally World changed my tire) was just a few traffic lights down the road and I made it there without further incident, but with the headlights still operating with minds of their own. Now, to be fair, the potential for battery drainage worked to my advantage in that it qualified as an 'emergency' repair and allowed the shop to take the car in late on a Friday afternoon. The service manager informed me that insurance companies generally frown on this because it means the car will sit essentially untouched until Monday, while I rack up rental car charges all weekend at insurance company expense. I assure you, at this point, I didn't give a damn about what State Farm did or did not frown upon.
Fourteen days and a $500 deductible later, I picked up my fully restored ride and bid farewell to the repair shop...until the next day, when I took it back due to -- you guessed it -- phantom headlight syndrome. And that's when I learned about the other wacky thing: the lights turned themselves off. Switches? Who needs those? Why not just have the headlights, high beams and all, come on as soon as the car starts and then turn off again about ten minutes after the car shuts down (which, oddly enough, is what was happening)? Well, I'll tell you why. Because I live in Texas, and I sometimes drive at night. It's not unheard of here in the Lone Star state for gunplay to erupt as a result of traffic faux pas, such as blinding drivers in oncoming vehicles with one's high beams.
Which brings us to today. Upon more careful inspection by 'our electrical guy', who apparently only gets called in on the really tough cases, the culprit turns out to be a broken turn signal lever. You know, that little arm that sticks out from the steering column that works the turn signals if you flip it up or down, and turns the high beams on and off if you pull it toward you. The very lever that I told the service manager felt 'squishy, like it's not connecting' on Day One of this adventure and was all but patted on the head and told to let the grown ups be the judge of what was or wasn't squishy. To his credit, this latest repair cost me nothing except a day without my car, a price I was glad to pay to regain total control over my headlights, thus becoming a courteous low-beam driver once again. To my credit, I never used the words 'I', 'told', 'you' or 'so', at least not in that order. Definitely not the norm for me.
So, now that the mystery of the self-operating headlights is solved, my dear Scooby gang, shall we tackle the problem of how replacing a broken shower nozzle led to the hot and cold water switching sides... all by themselves? No, on second thought, that is another story...
