Letting Down The Fairer Sex

I've always loved to drive, beginning from when I learned by playing video games.  My Atari origin story must have had something to do with the comments on my "heavy foot" during my first driving lesson, as well as inevitably contributing to my later successes trouncing colleagues at go-karting.  I have a European license and have enjoyed countless weekends driving German luxury cars at high speeds on the autobahn.  Stateside, I was in such a groove with another speeder that the Virginia cop who pulled us both over to give us tickets asked if we were traveling together.  All this is to say that I believe I am not such a bad representative for womankind when on the track or the road.

My requirements are horsepower and heated seats.  My current car dates back to 2010.  While we loved the car we had at the time, the check engine light kept going on, and I was traveling to remote locations to hike miles and miles with the dog.  Not wanting to be at the mercy of any heavily armed shirtless people I might come across in the event of a breakdown, I headed to a dealer to test drive a desirable used car.  That car didn't work out, but a new car did after several hours of negotiations during tough economic times (what better way to succeed in your negotiation than to not want the new car in the first place).

By now my 2010 car is my folly; I'm investing far more money in maintaining it than I should.  However, I love the fact that it has old fashioned features such as a key, albeit in a slightly modified format, only a tiny screen, and an actual instrument panel.  I'm not ready for a paradigm shift.  Besides, I still love the car.

I went to the dealer very early in the morning to drop it off for service and was greeted by a familiar service manager: a humorless older gentleman with shortly cropped white hair and a geometric white mustache.  He handed me the paperwork and escorted me out to a monstrosity of a loaner vehicle.  As I sat down inside, I placed my non-key in the center console and faced a barrage of brightly lit screens and unfamiliar controls.  I briefly pressed the ignition button and repeatedly attempted to put the car in gear, when I heard a stern voice:

"Ma'am, the engine isn't on." 

So much for representing womankind.