Marc
On Driving Long Distances to Get A Car Stereo To Work: A Lesson In Stupidity
I drove my car to Pekin on Friday night to get my car stereo working. For those of you unfamiliar with Central Illinois, here is the convenience of a map to show you just where I'm talking about. See, I'm an idiot. I got a new battery put into my car this week, and didn't realize as I hopped back in it to take it home, that the stereo wouldn't work without some sort of secret code, on account of being disconnected from a power source. I, like a fool, just start hitting "1,2,3,4,5" on the pre-set radio controls until I hear a big "BEEP". Still says "CODE" on the little screen. I plug in "1,2,3,4,6" ... "BEEP" ... "CODE". "1,2,3,5,6" ... "BEEP" ... "CODE". "1,3,4,5,6" ... no beep ... "CODE". "1,3,4,5,2" ... no beep ... "CODE".***1***
I don't know about you, but the lack of "BEEP"-ing was making me nervous. So I pulled out the owner's manual,***2*** did some heavy consulting, and found out that I needed a secret code, which my Mom had written handily in the margins (3,6,1,5,1), and that simply punching it in would do the trick. "3,6,1,5,1" ... no beep ... "CODE". "3,6,1,5,1" ... no beep ... "CODE". What the fuck? Consult the manual: car needs to be up and running for an hour for the code to be re-entered if it has been entered incorrectly three times or more. Damn!
I never drive around for more than an hour. Most of my trips are from point a to point b, which is normally less than six blocks. Where the hell am I going to drive for an hour?***3*** Class won't do it. Grocery store won't do it. I fasted all day Friday, almost until 4:30 in the afternoon, hopped in my car, made plans to buy some groceries, hit up a drive-thru, and took off down lonely Illinois Route Number 9. I wasn't actually expecting to do it, but I did. I'd never travelled down that road, anyways, and I wanted to see how huge the new Super Wal-Mart was,***4*** where, exactly, the interstate center was at, and other stuff, like the far-western outlying areas of Bloomington. And I was amazed. I know it wasn't within city limits, but these little tiny neighborhoods stretched out indefinitely west of town. Plus there were these real gentle, sloping hills, and the sun was going down behind the wall of thick, gray clouds, and, I'll have to be honest, it was really, extremely peaceful. I, obviously, wasn't listening to any music. Just the sounds that my car made on the ground as I scraped across the ground. The wind blowing past me onto the motorists behind me. There wasn't anyone in front of me for about a half hour. Just the two lane country road, curves, and the darkening sky.
By the time I got within about five miles of Pekin, exactly one hour after I turned on my car, the speakers went "BEEP", I plugged in "3,6,1,5,1", and within seconds I was blasting the tunes again. I turned onto the nearest interstate, I-155, took it to I-74, and spent the next half-hour singing my little heart out on the drive home. What a great night.
***1*** obviously there was no rhyme or reason to the numbers I was plugging in, was there?
***2*** which I still kind of feel weird having, as I'm not sure how owner-ish I feel about my car. I bought it off my Mom. I just paid it off for good about a month ago, but still ... I own it? It just doesn't feel right. I own ... a guitar. Sure. I bought that. I own ... a computer. Yeah. Bought that, too. I own ... a car? No. Just can't do it. It still feels like I'm borrowing it from my parents, hence all the nervousness about revealing things that have gone wrong with it to my dad, who still does the Dad Walkaround everytime I come home, asking, "how's the car been running?" and so forth. I've said this before, but I don't think I'll ever end up being like that. I just don't know enough about enough to be that way.
***3*** mind you, this all took place on a Wednesday afternoon within the span of about three minutes. I came up with two half-cocked ideas: (1) was to take my car to the Honda dealership and say, "My car is messed up, can you please fix it?" and break down and start whining and crying until they did, or (2) was to have my buddy, Jeff, come over and disconnect the battery and re-connect it for me, thus circumventing the whole hour-long-drive because the stereo would've reset itself. Now, (1) never happened, but (2) kind of did, except it was cold and windy and rainy outside, and we didn't have a flashlight, but that doesn't mean that we didn't try. I held a cd up to the headlights on my car, tilted at like a -45 degree angle, so I could shine some light on Jeff feeling around my car battery to try and figure out how to disconnect the damn thing. Which never happened, to be truthful. He gave up, I got cold, we went back inside and decided to face our failure with lots of alcohol.
***4*** just as gargantuan as the other Super Wal-Mart is. I can't believe we have two Super Wal-Mart's in town. Just goes to show you how many hicks live here.
On Driving Long Distances to Get A Car Stereo To Work: A Lesson In Stupidity
I drove my car to Pekin on Friday night to get my car stereo working. For those of you unfamiliar with Central Illinois, here is the convenience of a map to show you just where I'm talking about. See, I'm an idiot. I got a new battery put into my car this week, and didn't realize as I hopped back in it to take it home, that the stereo wouldn't work without some sort of secret code, on account of being disconnected from a power source. I, like a fool, just start hitting "1,2,3,4,5" on the pre-set radio controls until I hear a big "BEEP". Still says "CODE" on the little screen. I plug in "1,2,3,4,6" ... "BEEP" ... "CODE". "1,2,3,5,6" ... "BEEP" ... "CODE". "1,3,4,5,6" ... no beep ... "CODE". "1,3,4,5,2" ... no beep ... "CODE".***1***
I don't know about you, but the lack of "BEEP"-ing was making me nervous. So I pulled out the owner's manual,***2*** did some heavy consulting, and found out that I needed a secret code, which my Mom had written handily in the margins (3,6,1,5,1), and that simply punching it in would do the trick. "3,6,1,5,1" ... no beep ... "CODE". "3,6,1,5,1" ... no beep ... "CODE". What the fuck? Consult the manual: car needs to be up and running for an hour for the code to be re-entered if it has been entered incorrectly three times or more. Damn!
I never drive around for more than an hour. Most of my trips are from point a to point b, which is normally less than six blocks. Where the hell am I going to drive for an hour?***3*** Class won't do it. Grocery store won't do it. I fasted all day Friday, almost until 4:30 in the afternoon, hopped in my car, made plans to buy some groceries, hit up a drive-thru, and took off down lonely Illinois Route Number 9. I wasn't actually expecting to do it, but I did. I'd never travelled down that road, anyways, and I wanted to see how huge the new Super Wal-Mart was,***4*** where, exactly, the interstate center was at, and other stuff, like the far-western outlying areas of Bloomington. And I was amazed. I know it wasn't within city limits, but these little tiny neighborhoods stretched out indefinitely west of town. Plus there were these real gentle, sloping hills, and the sun was going down behind the wall of thick, gray clouds, and, I'll have to be honest, it was really, extremely peaceful. I, obviously, wasn't listening to any music. Just the sounds that my car made on the ground as I scraped across the ground. The wind blowing past me onto the motorists behind me. There wasn't anyone in front of me for about a half hour. Just the two lane country road, curves, and the darkening sky.
By the time I got within about five miles of Pekin, exactly one hour after I turned on my car, the speakers went "BEEP", I plugged in "3,6,1,5,1", and within seconds I was blasting the tunes again. I turned onto the nearest interstate, I-155, took it to I-74, and spent the next half-hour singing my little heart out on the drive home. What a great night.
***1*** obviously there was no rhyme or reason to the numbers I was plugging in, was there?
***2*** which I still kind of feel weird having, as I'm not sure how owner-ish I feel about my car. I bought it off my Mom. I just paid it off for good about a month ago, but still ... I own it? It just doesn't feel right. I own ... a guitar. Sure. I bought that. I own ... a computer. Yeah. Bought that, too. I own ... a car? No. Just can't do it. It still feels like I'm borrowing it from my parents, hence all the nervousness about revealing things that have gone wrong with it to my dad, who still does the Dad Walkaround everytime I come home, asking, "how's the car been running?" and so forth. I've said this before, but I don't think I'll ever end up being like that. I just don't know enough about enough to be that way.
***3*** mind you, this all took place on a Wednesday afternoon within the span of about three minutes. I came up with two half-cocked ideas: (1) was to take my car to the Honda dealership and say, "My car is messed up, can you please fix it?" and break down and start whining and crying until they did, or (2) was to have my buddy, Jeff, come over and disconnect the battery and re-connect it for me, thus circumventing the whole hour-long-drive because the stereo would've reset itself. Now, (1) never happened, but (2) kind of did, except it was cold and windy and rainy outside, and we didn't have a flashlight, but that doesn't mean that we didn't try. I held a cd up to the headlights on my car, tilted at like a -45 degree angle, so I could shine some light on Jeff feeling around my car battery to try and figure out how to disconnect the damn thing. Which never happened, to be truthful. He gave up, I got cold, we went back inside and decided to face our failure with lots of alcohol.
***4*** just as gargantuan as the other Super Wal-Mart is. I can't believe we have two Super Wal-Mart's in town. Just goes to show you how many hicks live here.
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