Prius Problem #1-It's Smarter Than Me

Problems of Owning a Prius - #1 It is indeed Smarter than Me.

I recently leased a new hybrid Prius. My boss wanted us to "go green" as a company and I, not wanting to kill the planet either, found myself signing for a charcoal gray 2011 tank. I call it a tank because it is much bigger then my previous scion xa.

This car is a nice enough car. I average about 3,000 miles a year so I really don't care what I drive but you know….the planet and all.

Example, shortly after I got it, I had an appointment with my therapist, Ellen. I was running a little late and in a bit of a rush. I grabbed my coffee, my purse, and my keys and jumped out. I pushed the little key fob with the keyless entry do-dad on it.

It made a decidedly different "beep-beep" then the usual higher pitched "beep-beep" that announced success with that "thunk-thunk" of the locks slamming down immediately after.

I pushed the button again. Again, the not happy beeping. I looked down and watched my thumb push the button with the lock icon on it again. Maybe I had been rushing and pushed the other unlock icon. Same noise.

I felt frustration rising and a clock ticking in the back of my head. And the usual voice for which I was among other things seeking therapy for began talking in my head.

            "How dumb are you? It's practically idiot-proof. For god's sake, it has pictures on the buttons that you push. You are like one of those stupid people at Wal-mart who insist on walking in the door plainly marked 'exit' that seem stunned to see people walking at them that you silently make fun of.  Geesh, Mel."

I told the voice to shut up and went into this really odd random grabbing of the door handles, looking inside the car, studying the key fob, taking large chugs of coffee and doing it all over again.

I could imagine people in the office next door to my shrink's office talking about the show I was putting on.

            "Hey, Edith, I think you were right. OCD." The two women named Edith and Mary, sitting at their desks with various pictures of cats and an inspirational calendar dispensed diagnosis as often as they answered the phone.

            "She's not as bad as that one before," Edith would reply.  "The one who just sat in her car and cried for 20 minutes." The phone rang. "Hello, thank you for calling Blah, blah and blah, how may I direct your call." Placing her hand over the receiver she would dramatically mouth, "manic depressive." Mary would nod in agreement.

I had had a really bad week and out of frustration, I kicked the front tire and cursed rather loudly followed by "what do you want from me?"

            "Oh, anger issues too.  Poor woman." Edith would say from her fake psychologist window front desk.

            I took a deep breath and stuck my head in one more time to see what the car was trying to tell me.

            Huh. I hadn't turned it off. The battery was on and it had gone still so I thought I had pushed the large black button marked "engine". I had indeed not done that. I pushed it and soon after successfully hearing the happy "beep-beep" gathered my coffee and proceeded to try not to limp in my stiletto heels across the parking lot, oddly feeling people were watching.