Dear Eliza,
I knows the latest craze is to name your self-driving car, but the practice feels silly to me. Silly with a hint of whimsical overreach. So, while my friends named their cars such things as “Sir…’s Other Car is a Porsche,” “The Exploding Pineapple…On Wheels” and “Drayton,” I continued to refer to my car as “my car.”
Then, the car started acting strangely. On my way to a job interview at the Daddy Day Care Centre (a place mothers send their husbands when they need a little me time) in downtown Toronto, it chose a route through Hamilton. I was three and a half hours later. Never mind not getting the job – I wasn’t even allowed in the building!
Just last night, I had arranged to go on a date with my girlfriend, Lucinda Reilla. Once I had told the car where to go, it sped off – at three miles per hour. I offered to buy it higher octane gasoline. No response. I offered to get it washed every couple of months instead of every couple of years. Crickets. I offered to get out and push. Nothing. Do you think the cop was sympathetic when I tried to explain why my car was slowing traffic to a crawl? Do you think Reilla was sympathetic when I showed up three and a half hours late? (She stayed just to stomp out in anger. She can be tenacious that way.)
I’m beginning to see a pattern, here. Do you think my car is angry at me because I haven’t named it? If so, what should I do?
Johanna Ellisilo
Dear Heart,
Given the circumstances you have outlined, the obvious course of action would be to name your car. If that’s the issue, problem solved. If the strange driving habits recur, stronger medicine would be called for. I would suggest blowing up the dealership you bought the car from. It is quick and efficient, and it would send your car the message that you are not a woman to be trifled with.
As it happens, I know a used munitions dealer who could give you a deal on a container of gelignite that was previously owned by a little old lady who only used it on weekends. If you find yourself in need of this manner of assistance, send me a private message and I will –
[Okay, I’m onna stop you right there. I have just had a very heated, high decibel, low-life discussion with the Alternate Reality News Service’s Legal Department – hi, Joe and Josephine – who have made it clear that if any of our writers should promote violence in print or online, the entire organization could be liable if somebody acts on their advice. I tried to argue that I don’t have any control over what gets published. One of the Legal Department – it really doesn’t matter which member – okay, it was Joe – pointed out that controlling what gets published was pretty much my entire job. When I have the time, I will have to look at my contract. Yeah, yeah, there’s a first time for everything.
Long story short, despite the fact that it costs next to nothing and it can be prompted by letters from readers, not me, The Alternate Reality News Service has decided not to use a Generative Artificial Intelligence to produce any of our advice columns. So, please welcome Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour back to our pages. While you’re doing that, I’m gonna wander the halls of the office looking for somebody to slap! EDITRIX-IN-CHIEF BRENDA BRUNDTLAND-GOVANNI]
Hey, Babe,
Gloating is such an unpleasant human impulse. If it appears that I am gloating, I assure you that that is not my intention.
When it comes to naming a car, many options are available to you. You could, for example, call it “Clotho of Aragones,” the woman believed to have been the originator of the philosophy of Stoicism (before Zeno hogged all the credit). “Arabella Salmonella” has a kind of tragic poetry to it. “The Independent” sends a message. You may find that, choosing just the right name will endear you to the vehicle.
If, on the other hand, being coerced to do something you don’t want to do is an affront to your dignity, you can always take the car back to the dealer and demand an exchange. In any dispute, Dear Heart, explosives should always be considered a last resort.
Send your relationship problems to the Alternate Reality News Service’s sex, love and technology columnist at questions@lespagesauxfolles.ca. Amritsar Al-Falloudjianapour is not a trained therapist, but she does know a lot of stuff. AMRITSAR SAYS: okay. You got me. I may have gloated just a little. As somebody who has seemingly miraculously been saved from the jaws of irrelevance at the last possible moment, I’m sure you can forgive me this little lapse.