A simple matter of crossed wires
Editor's note: Ottawa writer Quentin Bristow insists this account is fiction. Having experienced our share of automotive electrical problems, we're not so sure. Fiction or fact, we thought it worth sharing.
My new car had been back to the dealer once already to fix some sort of wiring error that had resulted in strange and unpredictable events.
I discovered the problem the first time I had to use the windshield wipers. When they were switched to "intermittent," a cheerful little message flashed on: "ENGINE ON FIRE EVACUATE VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY." Oh charming, I thought, but didn't take it seriously.
When I switched the wipers to the regular mode, the engine backfired three times and then stopped. It was then I saw smoke curling out from under the hood. Fortunately, it was nothing more than some overheated wiring, but at least it proved that the sensors and message systems were in full working order. The dealership people were most apologetic and repairs were put in hand immediately.
After that, the wipers were fully functional, but another problem developed. When I adjusted the left electrically operated rearview mirror, absolutely nothing happened to it, but my car seat moved back and forth. This was not what is called a reciprocal problem, because when I operated the controls of my seat, nothing happened to the mirror. What actually happened when I moved my seat forward was that the cruise control would cut in and we would be accelerated up to at least twice the highway speed limit, wherever we happened to be.
Unfortunately, I forgot about this little idiosyncrasy while I was sitting in the car one day, waiting for my wife while she went back to fetch her shopping list. I had the automatic transmission in reverse with the brake on, ready to go, and was absentmindedly fiddling with the seat controls.
I had no idea that the cruise control could work when the car was in reverse, but as it rocketed backwards down the driveway I was too busy with my head craned out of the window trying to miss the hedge and the drain pipes to think too much about that. What I really had to worry about now was which side of the road to reverse along on.
I knew that just touching the brake pedal is supposed to disengage the cruise control. However, the result in this case was that the left rearview mirror fell off into the road and I felt the accelerator pedal move even further down toward the floor under the relentless guidance of what was now quite clearly cruise un-control.
After streaking backwards through two intersections, and narrowly missing a terrified mail carrier, I finally had the wit to turn off the ignition, which brought my backward career to an end.
Unfortunately, turning off the ignition also activated the power door locks, making me a prisoner in my own car. I wasn't too worried about that; after all, there was a lock-release button and I could always open a window and insert the key from the outside.
I should have worried. The only thing the lock-release button did was activate the attention-grabbing burglar alarm. Soon there was a crowd of onlookers, all enjoying the spectacle of a car thief neatly trapped by sophisticated high technology ( ... see, I told you, they really do work) and eventually a police cruiser drew up.
A very large and very tense police officer advanced toward my car while I did my best to look relieved and convey a "thank-goodness-you-are-here-officer" demeanour. After making an unmistakable order in sign language to get out of the car, his next move was to grab the door handle. When that failed he motioned me to activate the lock release button.
I tried to show that I wanted to co-operate. But by this time the officer was clearly angry, and the onlookers were eagerly waiting for me to be taken away in handcuffs and leg irons. I reckoned I would probably get about six months for attempted car theft and at least six years for attempting to make a fool of a police officer in public.
Finally, I realized I would have to write him a note and hold it up to the window. Of course, no pen, pencil or paper, the only thing was a lipstick in my wife's handbag. The officer's expression changed to disbelief as he saw me take out the lipstick, but he quickly caught on when I started using it to write on the window.
He did have a pen and notebook and his first message to me was to put down a window and give him the key (In my panic I had forgotten this "plan B" strategy). I tried all four window buttons. Two of them produced absolutely no result, the third caused the engine to restart and the fourth set the air conditioner to galactic deep freeze and the blower to hurricane force.
His second message told me to try to release the hood latch so he could disconnect the battery. I hoped that the hood latch release wasn't electrical. It was and the windshield washers, hitherto unused, now operated continuously, but the hood latch was unaffected. His next message asked me if I had a spare key at home. I dipped into my wife's handbag and produced the only other set of keys, holding them up for him to see. He rolled his eyes, put his hands up in despair and scribbled another note that he would call the dealership and have them tow the car in.
Sometime later, the car arrived the dealership riding on the back of a tow truck for the second time, but this time with me inside and with a police escort. Just as well, because what the mechanics saw being towed in was a car with the engine running, the burglar alarm operating at full blast and inside, a shivering maniac holding a large lipstick. They eventually got me out, and after about seven brandies I returned to the land of the living. I left the wretched car there for them to sort out and they drove me home in another new car (a couple of models up from mine), which they said I could use until mine was fixed.
A few days later, I saw a headline in the newspaper that read "Dealership repair shop demolished by freak accident." A picture showed the shop where my car was, now reduced to a pile of rubble. Apparently, a vehicle being worked on had leapt off a hoist and slammed into the main roof support. Damage was extensive, but there were no injuries.
A few days later I got a letter from the car manufacturer via the dealer, telling me I could keep the borrowed car as long as I didn't sue anyone -- or write this story.
Quentin Bristow
The Ottawa Citizen
Friday, August 16, 2002
Editor's note: Ottawa writer Quentin Bristow insists this account is fiction. Having experienced our share of automotive electrical problems, we're not so sure. Fiction or fact, we thought it worth sharing.
My new car had been back to the dealer once already to fix some sort of wiring error that had resulted in strange and unpredictable events.
I discovered the problem the first time I had to use the windshield wipers. When they were switched to "intermittent," a cheerful little message flashed on: "ENGINE ON FIRE EVACUATE VEHICLE IMMEDIATELY." Oh charming, I thought, but didn't take it seriously.
When I switched the wipers to the regular mode, the engine backfired three times and then stopped. It was then I saw smoke curling out from under the hood. Fortunately, it was nothing more than some overheated wiring, but at least it proved that the sensors and message systems were in full working order. The dealership people were most apologetic and repairs were put in hand immediately.
After that, the wipers were fully functional, but another problem developed. When I adjusted the left electrically operated rearview mirror, absolutely nothing happened to it, but my car seat moved back and forth. This was not what is called a reciprocal problem, because when I operated the controls of my seat, nothing happened to the mirror. What actually happened when I moved my seat forward was that the cruise control would cut in and we would be accelerated up to at least twice the highway speed limit, wherever we happened to be.
Unfortunately, I forgot about this little idiosyncrasy while I was sitting in the car one day, waiting for my wife while she went back to fetch her shopping list. I had the automatic transmission in reverse with the brake on, ready to go, and was absentmindedly fiddling with the seat controls.
I had no idea that the cruise control could work when the car was in reverse, but as it rocketed backwards down the driveway I was too busy with my head craned out of the window trying to miss the hedge and the drain pipes to think too much about that. What I really had to worry about now was which side of the road to reverse along on.
I knew that just touching the brake pedal is supposed to disengage the cruise control. However, the result in this case was that the left rearview mirror fell off into the road and I felt the accelerator pedal move even further down toward the floor under the relentless guidance of what was now quite clearly cruise un-control.
After streaking backwards through two intersections, and narrowly missing a terrified mail carrier, I finally had the wit to turn off the ignition, which brought my backward career to an end.
Unfortunately, turning off the ignition also activated the power door locks, making me a prisoner in my own car. I wasn't too worried about that; after all, there was a lock-release button and I could always open a window and insert the key from the outside.
I should have worried. The only thing the lock-release button did was activate the attention-grabbing burglar alarm. Soon there was a crowd of onlookers, all enjoying the spectacle of a car thief neatly trapped by sophisticated high technology ( ... see, I told you, they really do work) and eventually a police cruiser drew up.
A very large and very tense police officer advanced toward my car while I did my best to look relieved and convey a "thank-goodness-you-are-here-officer" demeanour. After making an unmistakable order in sign language to get out of the car, his next move was to grab the door handle. When that failed he motioned me to activate the lock release button.
I tried to show that I wanted to co-operate. But by this time the officer was clearly angry, and the onlookers were eagerly waiting for me to be taken away in handcuffs and leg irons. I reckoned I would probably get about six months for attempted car theft and at least six years for attempting to make a fool of a police officer in public.
Finally, I realized I would have to write him a note and hold it up to the window. Of course, no pen, pencil or paper, the only thing was a lipstick in my wife's handbag. The officer's expression changed to disbelief as he saw me take out the lipstick, but he quickly caught on when I started using it to write on the window.
He did have a pen and notebook and his first message to me was to put down a window and give him the key (In my panic I had forgotten this "plan B" strategy). I tried all four window buttons. Two of them produced absolutely no result, the third caused the engine to restart and the fourth set the air conditioner to galactic deep freeze and the blower to hurricane force.
His second message told me to try to release the hood latch so he could disconnect the battery. I hoped that the hood latch release wasn't electrical. It was and the windshield washers, hitherto unused, now operated continuously, but the hood latch was unaffected. His next message asked me if I had a spare key at home. I dipped into my wife's handbag and produced the only other set of keys, holding them up for him to see. He rolled his eyes, put his hands up in despair and scribbled another note that he would call the dealership and have them tow the car in.
Sometime later, the car arrived the dealership riding on the back of a tow truck for the second time, but this time with me inside and with a police escort. Just as well, because what the mechanics saw being towed in was a car with the engine running, the burglar alarm operating at full blast and inside, a shivering maniac holding a large lipstick. They eventually got me out, and after about seven brandies I returned to the land of the living. I left the wretched car there for them to sort out and they drove me home in another new car (a couple of models up from mine), which they said I could use until mine was fixed.
A few days later, I saw a headline in the newspaper that read "Dealership repair shop demolished by freak accident." A picture showed the shop where my car was, now reduced to a pile of rubble. Apparently, a vehicle being worked on had leapt off a hoist and slammed into the main roof support. Damage was extensive, but there were no injuries.
A few days later I got a letter from the car manufacturer via the dealer, telling me I could keep the borrowed car as long as I didn't sue anyone -- or write this story.
Quentin Bristow
The Ottawa Citizen
Friday, August 16, 2002
