Eco-car: Why are you so weird?
A battery in the boot? A push button to start ya?
That ain’t the way I was reared.
It’s a song — an opening line to one I’ve been writing. It came to me as I was driving about in a Toyota Prius, one of those so-called hybrids that are revolutionizing the automotive world.
I rented one while in Missouri last week to defend my thesis. I had imagined a thesis defense would be like standing atop a castle gate during a barbarian siege. It was nowhere near so dramatic.
I hadn’t meant to rent a Prius — it was assigned to me when I showed up at the rental car counter at the airport. It had some kind of super-electric regenerating blah-blah-blah steam-driven, weed-eating, carbonated soda pop engine that ran both on gas and the energy it stored in the batteries out back.
Depending on what was more energy-efficient, it would switch back and forth between the conventional gas engine and its battery-driven motor. And at the same time it was also working on a cure for the melting polar ice caps.
I knew all of this because of the hi-tech display on the dash that kept me apprised of the watts — or was it kilowatts? — I was saving or generating or giving to third world countries … I have no idea. It patted me on the back as I drove and encouraged me with little environmentally-sensitive sayings like, “You go, boy! Save that Earth” and “A chipmunk in Iowa says, ‘thank you.'”
I felt good about myself and would excitedly jam on the gas. VaaaROOOM! My miles per gallon fell into negative territory, and the car started to cry.
“I love saving the environment,” I screamed.
I was averaging more than 40 miles per gallon, even on city streets, which was impressive. I made it from St. Louis to Columbia and back on one tank of gas. That’s awesome.
Yet, even with all that feel-good stuff — the car and I sang kumbaya over herbal tea at Starbucks — there were some things that really bothered me about the hybrid. First, I didn’t like its looks — flat and squatty in the rear like it had been rammed by a semi. And I don’t care for the name — Prius — or anything called a “hybrid.” I’ve watched too many sci-fi horror films to ever be truly comfortable in something called that. I spent the whole time expecting the car to come to life and run down little old ladies, or eat my ankles.
Still, the worst was starting it. There’s a key, but it’s not a key. It’s a little square piece of plastic that you insert into the dash. Only it doesn’t turn or start the car. Because, as I said, it’s not a key.
What starts the car? Heck if I knew. For the first 10 minutes I literally sat in the car trying to figure that out. I almost had to walk back inside the rental car place to proclaim they had given me a defective vehicle without an ignition.
I really couldn’t figure it out for the longest time. I even tried talking to it — “Car, start” — followed by yelling at it — “stupid environmentally-friendly car, start!”
Then I noticed a button on the dash that said … duh! … “start.” A button? You start a computer with a button. You start an electric shaver with a button. You get a Coke from a machine by pressing a button. But for as long as I’ve understood things, you start a car by turning a key. A KEY! Mess with an engine, make it more fuel efficient — fine! We’re cool with that … but why’d you have to get rid of the key! We like the freakin’ key. It makes us feel good.
Look, I’m all for saving the environment. I even liked driving the little hybrid. I really did. It was a good ride. But if you carmakers want us picky Americans to buy fuel-efficient cars, you’re going to have to do a couple of things: First, make ’em better looking; second, give us back our keys; and third, for goodness sake, stop calling them hybrids. It really kind of scares us.