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Articles
Humour
OUR TALKING CAR HAD US
LAUGHING AWAY THE MILES
by Jan DeGrass
(Vancouver Sun, April 2002)
My 1984 Chrysler LeBaron.
I once had a car that talked. It was a 1984 Chrysler
LeBaron, square-cut like a Mountie's jaw, sturdy, and very
brown--from its chocolate-coloured vinyl roof to its fuzzy
brown upholstery. It had a luxury feel, with power
everything, cruise control, stereo sound and blast furnace
defrosters. Even the visor mirrors lit up. It had belonged to
my father before he died; it was an unflappable car when
stuck in traffic in downtown Toronto where he and my
mother had lived. My father took pleasure in going through
the car wash on the weekends and polishing the car's
chrome trim and whitewall tires.
When it was bequeathed to me, the Chrysler was shipped
across country to take up rural living in Gibsons.
Unfortunately, its mere four cylinders were almost useless
for trundling up hills on the Sunshine Coast so the car and
I learned to relax and adapt by taking the slower, scenic
routes.
Chrysler continued to make the LeBaron after 1984,
though from what I've heard, they produced the cars with a
taped voice for only three years before discovering that
consumers didn't like a car talking back to them. But I
loved it. My morning routine was complete when I heard
the cheerful "All monitored systems are functioning," as I
first hit the gas pedal. Many's the passenger who thrilled to
learn that "A door is a ajar." Predictably, everyone would
answer: "No, it's not. It's a door!" In this way my car was
always filled with laughter.
"Please fasten your seatbelt," the electronic voice would
say in measured tones-- like the flight attendant on Air
Canada. After I buckled up, it would politely remark, "Thank
you." The tape used a male voice, deep and formal. At first
I wondered why not a woman's voice? After all, the car was
masculine looking--the sort of vehicle my investment
banker would drive (if I had one). Then I realized that they
had installed a man's voice because male drivers would
not like being told what do by a woman. This fellow's voice
is that of a colleague--the guy you play golf with who keeps
calm in a crisis: "Your oil pressure is low. Have this car
serviced immediately."
I took my Chrysler LeBaron on assignments for which a
truck would have been more suitable. One day, I had to
transport a 12-foot wide roll of linoleum plus passenger
along the streets of lower Gibsons. Since I didn't have a
roof rack, we hit on the ingenious plan of opening both
front windows and inserting the roll of lino across the front
seats like a food tray at a drive-in restaurant. The sausage
of lino sat quite comfortably across our legs, but stuck out
of both the front windows by about 3 feet on either side.
The voice was baffled. The car knew that something was
wrong, and we imagined it searching feverishly through its
tape loops for the equivalent of "Your lino is too long" or
"Don't smack pedestrians with your lino." After struggling
with the various phrases in its limited vocabulary, the voice
finally said: "Your windshield wiper fluid is low." Then, as I
imagined, it sat back triumphantly.
"Thank you," I replied.
Chrysler should have continued these cars because the
tape feature is perfect for a teenager's first car. "Come
straight home after school," the voice could say. Or, "Don't
speed." In fact, no one has been more fascinated by my
Chrysler than a 15-year-old boy visiting from England. We
took him on a drive to view the wonders of the Sunshine
Coast. You couldn't pay him to look at the scenery. Every
time the car spoke to us, he burst into fresh gales of
laughter. His final hysterics occurred when some electronic
glitch caused the side mirrors to rotate wildly at the same
time as the car informed us, "Your parking brake is on." He
later said the visit to Gibsons was the highlight of his trip.
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