The Car

Albert pressed his foot on the clutch as he put the key in the ignition. He turned it to the right expecting, as would anyone, the engine to engage. It didn't. He tried again, pressing on the clutch a little harder this time. Nothing.

Shit.

He glowered at himself in the rear view mirror and took a deep inhale of breath. He held it as he tried again. Still nothing.

He'd be late, at least 20 minutes, more depending on how long it took his car to quit pfaffing about.

"Come on you bastard. I don't need this today." He took another try. Silence.

"God dammit." The car usually started on the third attempt at the latest. Would he have to call the auto club to rescue him? Again?

"You bloody useless piece of shit." Albert slammed both his hands into the steering wheel, then gave the dashboard an exasperated slap.

"Stop it."

In his fury, Albert heard nothing but his heart pounding in his ears. He angrily grabbed the keys, pulled them from the ignition, and decided this was his last attempt before calling the service. He dreaded what might be another huge bill.

He reinserted the keys. As he turned them to the right, he suddenly heard something.

"Stop it," a voice very clearly said.

"What? Stop what?" Albert demanded, momentarily oblivious to how unusual this was.

"It. Stop it.”

Was he still asleep?

Albert heard the voice again.

"It hurts.”

"What the fuck?" Albert screamed into the steering wheel. "What hurts?"

"You bashing about with the keys. Stop it."

This was ludicrous, Albert realized, panicking as one would; however, despite the absurdity of what was happening in his garage, in his car, he believed he had to make it make sense.

"You keep banging my head side to side. I'm getting dizzy." The voice seemed to be coming from the ignition.

"But how...?"

"You people are all alike," the voice began. "You fly off the handle at the least little thing.”

This was a dream. It had to be. Arthur decided to go back inside and start again. As he reached for the door latch, all the locks suddenly clicked closed.

“Hold it.”

"Wha...?" Albert shrieked.

Before he could finish, he heard, "We need to talk."

"You've locked me in, you bitch."

"Tsk tsk. No need for name calling," said the voice. "I'm already feeling mistreated."

Albert stared at the displays before him, then looked at the radio, expecting it was the source but, no, the sound was definitely coming from the ignition.

Before he could say anything, he heard, "Of course I'm here in the ignition. And you abuse me regularly. Have some respect."

"But cars don't talk,” Albert assured himself nervously.

"That's what we want you to think."

"Here, here," rang out a chorus of voices from the dashboard. Albert detected English accents.

"OK. Where's all that coming from?"

“You interrupted our choir practice. You tell him, GP.”

A sound of throat clearing. “We had to cancel last night’s practice because you had us on your date. Didn’t go too well, did it?”

“None of your bloody business.” GP, however, was right. It was a disaster.

“I’ll have you know we’re pissed off. We were supposed to be nice and cozy in your company parking lot now, but we’ve decided to make do with this venue.”

“And you are?” Albert addressed the only place that seemed logical, the dashboard.

“It’s in the name, idiot. GP, first name, S, surname.’

“You’re the GPS?” Albert ventured.

“At your service,” it replied, then laughed. “That’s a good one. Get it? At your service? I live to serve,” it said sarcastically. “I’m in charge of direction ergo I’m the choir director.” It paused. “Get it?”

Many voices erupted in giggles.

The novelty of the encounter had begun to wear thin. Albert suddenly didn’t care that he was having a conversation with a fleet of inanimate things that inhabited his car. He just wanted it to end so he could try again to get to work.”

“I’ve named us the ‘Sat Navs,’ GP announced dramatically. “Do you want to know why?”

“I don’t,” Albert replied, no longer caring that it was all ludicrous. He really didn’t, nor was he sure he wanted to know. He was already terrified of the ignition.

“Do you know why I picked ‘Sat Navs’?” It didn’t wait for a response. “Haven’t you noticed we’re English? I’m called ‘Sat Nav’ across the pond.”

“Look, I don’t care – I have to get to work.” Albert answered, determined to ignore this insanity.

“Work? You haven’t taken us to a car wash in… how long have you had this car? Four years? Good God, man!”

Feeling attacked, Albert huffed, “Is that what you want? A car wash? FINE! I’ll take you after work.” shouted.

Nothing.

“OK?” No response. “Can I get to work now?”

Still nothing.

Hesitantly, Albert reached toward the ignition.

“Gently now,” a voice reminded him.

He turned the key. Gently. The engine kicked in, the doors unlocked and the garage door automatically opened. Leaving the garage, Albert glanced at the dashboard clock and was shocked to find it was after noon. He was five hours late.

“Shit!” How…?”

It seemed like 20 minutes. “It was a stupid dream,” he decided. “Stupid.”

He knew he’d be in deep shit, and decided to take a shorter, alternate route. Before he’d turned the second corner, he saw road construction ahead. Shit! He decided it would be faster to turn and find another route. But what was the best way?

At that moment, a voice – with a clipped English accent – announced, “Sat Nav reporting for duty, Major.”

“Shut up.”

Still, ‘Major’? Impressive.

In spite of himself, Albert smiled.