Is The Tank Half Full Or Half Empty?
By Carrington Vanston // 2004 Apr 14
I hate my car. Or more accurately, my car hates me and I choose to return its affection. It's a 2003 Cheverolet Cavalier which I purchased because my brother in law is a Chev salesperson and discounts are yay.
I don't care about cars, and so they all look pretty much the same to me. I suppose mine is as good as most with its shiny black paint that matches its shiny black heart. It has slightly pointed bumpers which make it resemble some kind of razor ("Introducing the new Gillette Cavalier: the first bumper lifts and separates pedestrians from their sneakers, while the second one shaves them cleanly from the crosswalk.").
It's a fairly comfortable car for the very little driving I do, but while it's good on gas (which is important) it's bad with gas (which is annoying). By that I mean it has little if any idea how much gas it has left, or more likely it does know but it's not of a mind to share that information. It has a gas gauge, but it only uses it to tell lies.
According to the owner's manual, my car has a low fuel warning light. By "light" I assume they mean "non-glowing, dashboard colored area of the dashboard."
While the non-illuminating fuel light is a feat to appreciate, it's the gas gauge that's truly a wonder. After filling up a Cavalier with gas, the fuel gauge reads full for the first 300 KM. Then it drops like a stone down to the 1/4 mark within about fifty meters of travel. You can actually see it move. The first time it happened I assumed I'd ruptured the gas tank somehow.
The needle freefall is a neat feat, but it's the second part of the trick that's the winner. After dropping suddenly to the 1/4 full mark, the needle remains perfectly still for hundreds of KM. It's as if the car got that whole "using up gas" phase out of the way, and now it will roll on forever.
As I once again pulled my Cavalier to the side of the highway I thought, "clearly GM designers are fans of Frogger.
I am no longer fooled by this since I know it's just my car's way of trying to lull me into a false sense of security. Or even a false sense of my-car-doesn't-hate-me. Because at some point past 500 KM, with the gauge still at the 1/4 mark, my car suddenly and without any warning will run out of gas. This is not fun. (I point this out in case GM designers are reading this column and wondering if their customers enjoy this exciting feature.)
My personal experience is that this "I've got lots of gas, don't worry, I'm fine, lots and lots of gas, oh wait I'm out of gas" feature is exclusive to driving at highway speeds. Usually in the passing lane.
On each occasion, as well, and this is the really exciting and unique bit, the first use of a turn signal will blow the bulb. Every single time. First the car will stall without a beep or a warning light or any indication that it might be low on gas--and then whichever way I signal to pull over that signal will fail.
That's the kind of forethought in design I have to applaud. Any automotive manufacturer could employ merely shoddy workmanship, but it takes real effort to create something this evil.
It's exciting when I am unable to signal my intention to pull to the shoulder after my car loses all power. That's fun. It's extra special fun to be thus forced to pull to the shoulder of the passing lane as other vehicles whiz by. This past week my car did it to me again. As I pulled my Cavalier to the side of the highway I thought, "clearly GM designers are fans of Frogger."
I used my cellular phone (an absolutely essential part of a Cavalier owner's equipment) to call GM's roadside assistance. I informed them I was stuck on the shoulder of the fast lane of the highway. They told me that my position escalated the call as an emergency, and so they'd have a tow truck to me with some emergency gas. I could expect it to arrive in just over two hours.
Yes, two hours. I was in the heart of a major metropolitan city, not out in the boonies, but GM's "emergency" service would take a minimum of two hours.
As it was, it took three.
At first, I told the GM call center rep to cancel my order: I could easily walk to and from a gas station myself in far less than two hours. But as it turned out, I was in between two bridges which had no shoulders but which did have nice curves to hide me from onrushing cars. I'm a bit of an adrenaline junkie, but I'm not an idiot. Well, not that much of an idiot, no matter what you've heard. I stayed in my car, and I re-ordered the tow truck.
During my three hour wait, I watched an exciting reality television show called Which Truck Will Kill You! being broadcast in my rearview mirror.
I also listened to the radio, but even the car's radio was against me since it played not one but two different songs from the second album by the Napanee Warbler herself, Avril Lavigne. Or at least it tried to play them: shortly after recognizing her heavily computer assisted voice I'd seek over to a new station.
I did hear enough of the songs to note that the first one was about "not giving it up." Its lyrics included "I won't give it up, I don't give a damn what you think about that." The second song was about..."not giving it up." Its lyrics included "Did you think that I was gonna give it up to you?"
Clearly, somebody has boyfriend issues.
I also read a book, Hardcase by Dan Simmons, which was a pretty decent if pedestrian effort in the "tough guy antihero detective" genre. I read it straight through, hoping that the unfinished story might keep me alive in Scheherazade fashion. The book lasted less than the three hour wait, but as chance would have it the passing trucks avoided my little GM speed bump anyway.
The end of my tale is a little mundane. The tow truck driver finally showed up, and he shook his head at my half-full gauge but wholly-empty tank.
While I've twice had the gas gauge "fixed," I'm now simply going to ensure I never drive more than 400 KM between fill ups regardless of the lies my dashboard tells me. I'm also never going to buy a GM vehicle again. I urge you to join me in my resolution.
When I think back on it all the trouble this Cavalier has given me in the year that I've owned it, one thing stands out. One clear moral for the story that I hope stays with you. One ringing notion which echoes in my mind whenever I pause to give thought about my car. And that notion is this:
I love my bicycle.
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Carrington Vanston is a humorist and atheist. Or vice versa. He wrote and directed the long forthcoming feature film Duck Duck Goose. He has written two tiny plays which had two tiny productions: The Sound Of Two Hands Typing and Stark Raving Happy. He speaks three languages fluently, but two of them are English with a silly accent. The third is English with a slightly less silly accent. He can pronounce his full name backwards, he has a favorite mathematical equation, and he wants that $2 you owe him. Carrington should be stored in a cool, dry place, and may explode if heated.