Drive-by-wife

Buying a new car is like going for a job interview. I realised this sitting across from the moustached car dealer, while my other half (‘she-who-wants-all-optional-extras’) poured over colour combinations and vanity mirrors.

“Now this is the base price,” the guy said, as if negotiating a salary package. “Then we have stamp duty, dealer delivery, metallic paint, boot liner, matching luggage and monogrammed carpet mats.” He scribbled down some extra numbers, added something I couldn’t read, then showed me the total. It took me a moment to realise there was no decimal point.

“I’m… ah… not sure we can afford that much,” I said, throat dry and a sheen on my forehead. I looked to ‘she-who-thinks-LED-lights-will-be-too-heavy’, but she was lost in details of glovebox capacity.

“Okay then,” he said, a look of concern across his bushy top lip. “I’ll just go talk to my manager about your bald spot and the size of your wife’s tits.”

Rewind to reality: “I’ll just go talk to my manager and see what we can do.”

Cars today are entirely different to what our parents bought, largely due to the infiltration of computers into almost every system. Only five years ago, climate control was a luxury item — now it’s standard in most family cars. Power windows and mirrors cost a ridiculous amount: now the windows have sensors so you don’t catch your head when you rubberneck the neighbour’s wife. Which leads nicely to airbags, which seem to have multiplied like rabbits into every cavity you can find. Anyone that crashes a new Volvo will end up with a jumping castle.

It’s not just accessory items that have become electronic. Most European cars (including the humble Ford Fiesta) use drive-by-wire technology under the accelerator. No more metal rod connecting pedal to engine; now there’s a computer sensing the degree of foot-mash, which conveys that to another computer which activates variable cam shafts and injectors (again makes me think of the neighbour’s wife). Mercedes has announced its new vehicles will have drive-by-wire steering: no more steering column, just a wheel connected to some potentiators. Merc has even suggested scrapping the wheel altogether, and replacing it with a joystick (flight sim fans rejoice!).

General Motors has gone a step further, with a concept car that uses nothing but drive-by-wire technology. Instead of a wheel, there’s an aeroplane-like “X-drive” unit: twist the grip forward and the car accelerates; squeeze it to stop. If you get sleepy and would like a nap, you just give the controls to the passenger — literally.

GM raised an interesting question with their concept car: if you reinvented the automobile today — without preconceptions of a bonnet, a boot and people in between — how would it differ?

Like Homer Simpson in Herb Powell’s factory, I got to thinking. First, I reckon Homer was onto something with a domed roof (I even think Audi pinched the idea for its TT coupe). Domes are inherently stable, appear everywhere (town hall ceilings, shopping centres, Wendy’s milkshakes) and have subtle sexual appeal. Two domes are even better (just like the old Batmobile).

Talking of the Batmobile, the new movie’s vehicle has HUGE wheels, which makes a lot of sense. With the influx of modern guttering, people are always scratching their rims. Big fat wheels means you can just drive over them, and park any place you damn well want to. Makes sense: Batman’s never been the best driver, and reverse parking in that cowl would be a bitch.

And fins: ask any Formula One driver and they’ll tell you that you can never have enough fins and spoilers. Not that they’re much use at 50km/hr, but at least you know that if you need to suddenly accelerate to 300kph you’ll have ample downforce.

My last request? Somewhere to put up my feet. I don’t know the number of times I’ve tried resting my feet on the dash, then realised I need them for the pedals. Yep, that would be perfect: no pedals and an electronic pouf.

Which brings me back to the car salesman. We finally settled on a price and I signed the papers, feeling like I’d just won the job. And as Mr Moustache said, noting my wife’s involvement in the deal, it’s a job where I get to sleep with the boss.