Lady Anachronism and the Six Cylinder Wizards

It wasn't exactly a phrase I ever expected to say in 15th century Europe:

"Um, could you tell me if there's a pay phone around here I could use?"

But given my electric horseless carriage had completely lost its giddayup in the middle of the Renaissance Faire parking field, well, now was really not the time to be a stickler for historical accuracy.

I elaborated on how ye olde bewitched torches had accidentally been left to burn during the course of the jousting... During yon marketplace pillaging... During the enjoyment of grog and delicacies from ye locallle chippe shoppppeee... And thus had drained the carriage of its goodly magyckeee.

I shared the tale of how I am stupidly not keeper of the phone of cells... And how I had thoughtlessly not yet sought protection of the roving, rescuing band of the Three A's, wizards who specialize in the reanimation of stranded carriages.

I spoke of all this-- in four-part verse accompanied by lutes and dancing minstrels, two of whom I had to run through with sharpened sword just to get the whole story finished...

By Tudor's codpiece, those skipping minstrels do strain the nerves!

But once the woman in the wimple and velvet gown at Ye Olde Tickett Boothee heard my tale of woe, she leapt to action.

She picked up her own enchanted phone of cells and rang up His Majesty's Royalle Carriage Magycker-Uppers. This noble king--well-prepared for most contingencies which is undoubtedly why he is in charge (that and, y'know, being a legacy kid)-- had druid advisers on hand for just such an occasion!

Huzzah! Huzzah! And whoop-whoop-whoop!

I waited for their arrival, reading my carriage's Booke of Spelles, hoping to glean some bit of new knowledge. But alas, my powers of magyckkke in the area of horseless carriages are weak and silly and do sucketh.

A kindly knygggght came by with his lady and offered assistance, if I had the Bewitched Cables of the Jump. But alas, no. Miserably unprepared was I.

This Lady felt a fool.

He then offered me weaponry, to fend off any carriage-jackers that might come by to plunder my meager wealth, or my minstrel-less portable player of the tunes.

But soon, from over the field on a powerful steed-- I believe it was a Ford Bronco-- came the King's sorcerers. They were from the far land of Colorado, they said, and rescued dudes and damsels in this particular sort of distress at least once a fortnight using their talents of automotive necromancy.

Consulting a bit on the right spells to use, they coaxed my horseless carriage back to life.

And hey nonny-nonny! We were prepared to journey once more!

Ah, but wait!!-- good people of the land of Cabbages... What would this story be without a concluding moral?

When dark skies grow and winds do blow
Ye ask, "Will ye get threwghhht it?"
But hark!-- one call can do it all
As wisemen say: "Just Druid."

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Service Engine Soon and the Little Red Light of Death

"Service Engine Soon." The blood-red light hung on the dashboard with electronic foreboding.

To unknowledgable eyes, that small warning light took on a demonic, ominous presence. A chill scuttled down my spine. A vulture squawked from somewhere in the backseat. The smell of brimstone, and thick oil well-over its 3,000 mile limit, filled the air. Ravens on the roof cawed, "Nevermore. Nevermore."

And the little red light transformed from:

"Service Engine Soon"

to

"Abandon Hope All Ye Who Sit Thine Posterior Upon Yon Seat of the Bucket."

It was a small font.

But alas, underneath this sense of impending, ugly, unwanted destiny, the daily commute still called me.

Responsibility superceded Conflagration.

"Soon," by necessity, had to become: "Not Now, Later: After I Yell at My Fellow Drivers Per the Daily Quota."

So with one eye on the road, and one eye alert for signs of sudden spontaneous combustion and an explosion worthy of four different camera angles, I drove white-knuckled to work.

That's when I made the call to my garage. This was our conversation.

Me: I need to make an appointment to have my car serviced.

Garage: What seems to be the problem?

Me: It's asking for you. It says Service Engine Soon.

Garage: Is the car losing power?

Me: No.

Garage: Is it stalling out in traffic?

Me: Er, no...

Garage: Don't worry about it. It's probably fine.

Me: But the red light... But the Service. And the Soon.

Garage: It's been raining a lot. It could be that.

Me: What, it doesn't like getting its tires wet? Does it know these are all-weather and not Jimmy Choos'?

Garage: Or did you get gas lately?

Me: (hesitantly).... Two days ago.

I am now thinking that for two days, perhaps the gas has been bubbling up in my engine in some quiet volcanic-like inferno, waiting for its one big moment to shower a city block with steaming hot magma and Unleaded Regular.

Garage: The gas cap might be loose.

Me: Service Engine Soon is a loose gas cap?

Garage: Or a wet engine. Unless it's losing power. Or stalling. Or steaming. But it should almost probably maybe be fine. Can I help you with anything else?

Me: But the light is still on...

It was taunting me with its insidious redness and vagaries.

Me: ...And I kinda want it to be Not On.

Garage: Wait a week or so and see if it doesn't dry out and go off. Check your gas cap. It'll be fine. Thank you for calling The Explaining Automotive Non-Sequiturs Help Center.

In a week, the Service Engine Soon light vanished. Along with my copilot the vulture, and those pesky roof-ravens. The brimstone scent required an airfreshener to really get it out.

So for all you folks out there who have yet to encounter the "Service Engine Soon" light, I share with you this advice: "Don't panic." Apparently the manufacturers of today's cars like a little wiggle-room in their dashboard warnings.

In fact, I hear the 2010 models, in addition to having the "Service Engine Soon" sign, also are being installed with the following alerts:

Objects in Your Dashboard May Be Less Helpful Than They Appear.

Keep Out of Reach of Children

WARNING: Deer Collisions May Dent Car Frame. Also Deer.

May Contain Nuts.

Friends, they're looking out for us. What more could we ask?

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