When my eight-fourth birthday arrived, I realized that I’d already done all the things on my bucket list. I’d bought a truck and motor scooter. A few years earlier, I went on my first cruise, traveling to Alaska alone on a National Geographic nature ship. Later, I took another cruise on the same ship to Antarctica. I flew to Ecuador to visit small villages. I bought an RV.
The day before I turned eighty-four, I thought of a new item for my bucket list. I got an unexpected lust for a Mercedes-Benz surfaced. I’d always heard people talk about these remarkable automobiles, how nothing ever goes wrong with them and they’re a dream to drive. So on the day after my birthday, I drove to the Mercedes dealer in Gainesville, Florida, and bought one.
Suddenly, I was a little bit better than other drivers on the road. I knew things they didn’t.
The problem is, my Mercedes is more intelligent than I am. It does mysterious things without being asked, like turning on the passenger airbag when my dog is sitting in the front seat. I’ve learned to manage the automatic windows, but the moon roof challenges me. I have to figure out the little ceiling levers all over again whenever I want to open it. And after I’ve been on a highway travelling 70 mph for about an hour, a lighted message comes on the dashboard screen, “Take a break! Take a break!” This is accompanied by an incredibly annoying, nonstop beep.
Take a break, hell. Who’s running this show?
I called the Mercedes dealer . The mechanic told me he can tinker with the car’s computer to turn off the intrusive message. He says I was probably weaving across lanes slightly for the warning to flash on.
Oh, now I am really insulted!
I think I need a new entry for my bucket list. Being superstitious, I’m afraid I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil if I don’t have at least one. Under consideration are a helicopter ride over the Badlands, an automobile tour of Iceland, and playing my piano accordion on a street corner.