It’s not enough that we’ve got the bun cooking in Karli’s oven, and it’s not even enough that we’re moving in a little over a month. Nope. The car’s gotta break, too.
I’ll spare you the details since it’s not that interesting and I don’t know much at all about cars. In the end, it turned out to be a cheap fix that’s (supposedly) easy to do on your own. It’s not our main car, only our drive-it-till-it-drops second car.
We found this out because Karli went and looked up the problem on Google. It reminded me of the conversation we had the other week where Karli asked me—mostly tongue-in-cheek, I’m sure—”I don’t know how my parents survived without Google. How did they know things?”
Of course, we were born prior to Google, ourselves—something Squatch definitely won’t know—which means we know how people did things before the magical internet. We’ve just gotten spoiled. Before the internet, you actually had to talk to people. People who knew things. Like mechanics and scientists and librarians and stuff.
Take our car trouble, for instance. I know very little about cars. The closest I get to knowing anything is listening to Car Talk on NPR. And that’s not to pick up anything about cars. They’re just funny.
Karli knows more about cars than I do, but she doesn’t really fix them, and especially not in her current state. We had an issue, Karli typed some stuff into Google, and voila, the answer appeared. We had to go by a $30 part, take out the thingamabobber, replace the whozit, and plug it into the whatchamajig*. Easy. And we didn’t have to tow our car to a mechanic and get charged $60 for them to look at it. Something we’d have had to do if this were 20 years ago.
*Actual car terms. I think.
See, before the internet, we actually had to know things. A dummy like me never could’ve fixed anything on a car before I had Google. Actually, Google and an iPhone, so I could take the instructions with me out to the car on my little pocket answer machine.
I’ve gotten a little reliant on it if I’m telling the truth. Too reliant, probably. Someone asks a question, occasionally out loud, not often directly to me, and I whip the answer machine out of my pocket to verify that Toni Morrison was the last American Nobel Laureate in Literature. Sometimes it’s helpful; usually I’m assuming it’s pretty obnoxious.
Occasionally I get to be the guy that knows things, but usually I’m just the asshole who happens to have the answer machine in his pocket. I’m working on trying to know more things, but the crutch of having the answer machine is just too good. Knowing things can wait, I suppose. After all, the internet knows a lot more than I could possibly get my head around.
For the record—no, I haven’t fixed the car yet. The thingamajig we didn’t work, so we took it back and they said it might be defective. They’re getting a new one for us tomorrow morning. If that one doesn’t work, it’s probably me that’s defective.
When I start to know things, cars might be near the top of that list.