Month: August 2021

I think it’s time to admit that we are collectively in denial. I don’t want to shame anyone here, but the bottom line is we have to be honest with ourselves about our sizes. We are simply not as small as we think we are.

I am talking, of course, about vehicles, and the need for the owners of said vehicles to park in spots in parking garages marked for compact cars, which they certainly are not driving.

I made this recent observation when my wife and I went out. We were heading into a parking garage, and I did the most sensible thing, which was to stop and let her off at the ticket booth before entering. To anyone on the outside, it probably looked like we were having a fight and she was done with me. In actuality, my wife gets exceptionally car sick, in particular when going in circles in a parking garage, and I was actually doing her a big favor. 

She knew full well that I was going to be driving to most likely the top floor of the garage to park my car. I drive to the top because I drive what is somewhere in the range of a compact and a full-sized sedan. But I also know that the first few floors of the garage will not have any spaces anymore, for a couple of reasons.

The first is that, duh, they fill up first. And we were there at 2:30 in the afternoon. The second is that people often park their cars in spots that are too small, often designated by signs that say “Compact cars only.”

Side note: In writing this column, I learned that the classification for a compact car is one that has between 100 and 109 cubic feet of combined passenger and cargo volume. That means absolutely nothing to me, so I checked out width and length. Turns out that according to government standards, the maximum width is 70.5 inches, and the maximum length is 175.3 inches. Now I don’t know about you, but I have no clue the length and width of my car, much less the cubic feet of volume. Turns out I am over in two of the three.

But even if my car is on the line, it’s pretty clear that my car will have to snug up pretty tight to my car neighbors to park in those spots. So up to the top I head, where I can find a nice, easy spot to pull into. Maybe I’ll take a moment to enjoy the view, and then celebrate getting some steps in on my descent down. (Elevator back up, though. I’m not crazy.)

But, hoo boy, do some folks simply not care that their cars are not designed to fit in those spaces. Well, I guess I shouldn’t say cars. My car could probably fit in plenty of them, were they open. I’m talking about vans, SUVs and trucks. 

They are most certainly not within the government guidelines. And I get that some folks might say that they don’t need guidelines to tell them where they can park their vehicle. And I would agree with you most times. Except…

If you walk through any parking garage, you will see a lot of people who not only deny the direction of the guidelines, they straight up deny the geometry of what they are dealing with.

The vehicles simply don’t fit in the spots. Folks just pull on in, completely cool with the fact that they have essentially taken up two – and sometimes with even bigger vehicles, three – spots to park their ride.

I really don’t want to chalk this up to people being selfish and awful, so I consider today’s column a gentle friendly reminder to perhaps check and see when you see a spot that says “Compact cars only.” It’s not a challenge. And it’s not a disrespect to you. It just means the spot is a little smaller than your big, fine ride is suited for. Come on up to the top with me. You’ll get your steps in. And the view is great.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

To me, a freshly cleaned car is a great feeling. I spent a lot of time in my car, and I love having a nicely tidied up ride. That said, I often tromp out in the woods or go to the beach and I tend to not exactly stay on the beaten bath, so my car often gets a little of nature coming with it.

Every so often, I run my car up to the car wash to give it a nice bath and then a good cleaning on the inside to purge the dirt and sand, and bag up the things I need to bring in to the house to find homes for, which often includes bones and such, because, well, my son finds a lot of those.

On my recent trip to the wash, I ran my car through, and then pulled in to vacuum it. Side note – the emergence of the car wash with vacuum at the end is one of mankind’s greatest accomplishments. Also, the removal of the spray cleaners and wipe cloths because someone kept stealing them is one of mankind’s greatest indictments.

I finished vacuuming my car (but not wiping it down, because thanks, people!). I went to start it and my car did something really weird. The dash lit up and started clicking with every single light it seemed to have. The one thing it did not do is start. I noticed one blinking light I had never seen – a blinking green key light.

I did what any mechanic of my stature would do, and Googled “Honda blinking green key light.” I quickly learned that the car no longer recognized my key fob. I clicked on the first video that was going to tell me what to do. This video was WAY longer than it needed to be, as the first four minutes of the six minute video were a guy telling me that he had the same problem and he was going to tell me how to fix it. And then telling me that watching the video would tell me how to fix it. And then reminding me that at the end I would know how to fix it. I fast forwarded a bit here and there and got to the end of the video. His solution? Put the key in the ignition, turn it and hold for five seconds, and the key fob would reset itself. 

Slight problem. I don’t have a key ignition slot thingee. I have just a fob, and my car starts when I push a button. Except, you know, this time.

I Googled a few more things, as any master mechanic like me would do. One suggestion I found was that my key fob battery might have died. That’s as plausible as anything else, I suppose. I called my son and asked him to bring my spare fob up to the car wash. About 10 minutes later, new fob in hand, same result.

I called my Honda dealership, as I had just spoken to them about an hour prior to set up a regular service appointment a few days from now. Fortunately, I got the same person on the phone I had gotten an hour earlier. “Hey, I just talked to you a bit ago about an appointment Wednesday morning. Wondering if you might be able to help me a little sooner…” She remembered me (I’m unforgettable), and transferred me to a service tech. I told him what was going on. He told me the worst case was I was going to have to get my car towed in. But he said probably my battery was just shot. “Have you tried jump starting it?” Being the expert mechanic I am, I said, “Um, no. Should I?” He said, “Yeah, I’d try that first.”

I hooked my jumper cables up to my son’s car, and, first try, it started. Whew.

There was an auto parts store right next door, so I drove my car over there, and they confirmed that, in fact, my battery was pretty darn dead. Twenty minutes later, I had a new battery, and all my fobs were magically working again. Way better deal than a tow to the dealership.

I’m happy it ended fairly easily, and I’m also glad my car is now a nice clean ride to scoot around in. Just wish I’d been able to wipe it down inside.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

Two things happened this week that really made me feel my age, and surprisingly neither involved my back hurting.

That’s because my back always hurts now, so I can’t really count this as a new thing. It’s just a thing that happens when you start to close in on 50. It’s just part of the deal, like worrying about how my lawn looks and wondering if I should get my cholesterol checked.

No, I am referring to, as you probably guess, cryptocurrency and Roomba replacement parts.

What, that wasn’t your guess?

So first on cryptocurrency. I have to admit that I simply do not understand it, and I am OK with that. I have a neighbor who is much younger than me and is a computer programmer. He has tried his best to explain it to me, but I think it’s akin to if I were to try to explain trigonometry to my dog. No matter how much Maddux the Stoic wants to know about cosine, he’s just never going to get it.

And don’t get wrong. I’m not one of these Luddites who resists change as it sweeps upon us. I’m not sitting in my horse buggy refusing to drive a car. I’ve just decided that this thing is either going to happen or not, and if it does, it will sweep me up and I will be assimilated accordingly. It was the same thing with smartphones. I was never for or against them when the talk about iPhones came out. I just decided that when it was something I had no choice but to part of, I’d shrug and just get on board.

But I can’t wrap my head around the whole bitcoin thing. Plus, once new wave things such as this start to become a mainstream media story, I figure there is no point in my trying to get in on the game as an early win. The early win was long gone by the time I learned about it. It was similar to the GameStop craziness that happened a while back. If you are getting in on the action because you learned about it from Lester Holt on NBC Nightly News, you’re too late to the game.

And that brings us to my ridiculous excitement over receiving replacement Roomba parts. Our Roomba, named Sallie, needed a few brush replacements. Sallie had been shelved for a few weeks because she needed these parts to be her best Roomba self. (Apparently, stray fishing line on the living room floor does a number on a Roomba’s hardware.)

When the package arrived, I opened it while I was the only human in the house. I saw the replacement brushes and said, out loud,, “YAY! THE BRUSHES ARE HERE! MADDUX!!!! SALLIE!!!!!”

I am confident Maddux and Sallie were both as excited as I was.  

In installed the new brush, and set Sallie off to do her thing in the kitchen. I am pleased to report that she cleaned like a champ, and, I am pretty sure, even gave me a little wink and nod as she was cruising the floor with her new brushes.

So that’s where I am in life. Confused by technology, and excited about a replacement part for a cleaning device. I am sure 20-year-old me would have shaken his head at who I have become. But I’m OK with it. I’m just going to go with it. I will celebrate my new Roomba parts. And I will let the younger, smarter folks figure out cryptocurrency. Who knows. Maybe one day, I will be fully assimilated, and buy my next Roomba replacement parts with some bitcoin.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, you can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.