As I Was Saying
Dim The Lights, Cue The Dash Cam
By Alan Williamson
My Mustang is in the shop. Its headlights don’t come on unless I flick the high beams on and off in rapid succession between 10 and 20 times. This has been happening for weeks and now the finger I use to flick my high beams on and off is getting sore. There is no listed medical condition called “high beam finger,” but thanks to my headlights, it’s a flicking affliction that throbs day and night.
Now, I’m not a mechanic, but this headlight malfunction seems like a situation that’s likely to deteriorate until they don’t come on at all. The way I picture it, the time my headlights will pick to not come on will be a night that I’ll get pulled over about 40 miles from home in the rain with a glass of cabernet on my breath. Plus, I’ll have somehow, for the first time in my life, left my wallet and license at work. And (also for the first time in my life) I’ll be wearing a cape and clown makeup. I’ve seen enough police car dash cam videos on the news to know that this will not go well for me.
There won’t be a problem though, because I’ve gotten up early, made arrangements to be late for work, and have my car in the expert hands of my mechanic, Ron. Ron wastes no time in putting the Mustang through a battery of carefully-sequenced tests. From my view through the window in the waiting room I observe that many of those highly technical tests consist of Ron standing in front of the Mustang looking at the headlights while another mechanic named Chuck sits in the driver’s seat turning them on and off. Within minutes, Ron comes back with a conclusive diagnosis.
“Your headlights work fine,” he announces.
“You fixed them already?” I ask uncomprehendingly.
“There was nothing to fix,” he clarifies. “We turned them on and off about 30 times and they came on every time.”
“But this has been going on for three weeks,” I stammer. “How can they suddenly be fine?”
“These intermittent problems can be caused by a lot of things. Unless it’s doing it when we have the car here, it’s all a big guessing game.”
“Well, if you had to guess, what would you say is causing the problem?”
Ron stroked his chin and looked at me like he had an answer he needed to censor.
“There are two different electrical switches that could be failing intermittently. We could replace one or the other, but there’s no guarantee that they’re what’s causing your problem.”
“How much do they cost?” I ask, hungry to take some step that might prevent my appearing in any police car dash cam videos.
“With labor, one’s going to run you about $325, the other about $140.
A light went on in my head.
“Again, if you had to guess, which switch would you say is more likely to cause the problem?”
“The $325 one.”
“But it could be the $140 one,” I counter.
“Possible, but not probable,” Ron reasons.
Finally seeing the folly of our hypothetical bantering, I ask Ron my final question: “If you were me, what would you do?”
He gave me a lingering look.
“I’d lose about 15 pounds, get a better pair of shoes, and do something about that coffee breath.”
“I meant the car, Ron.”
“Oh, sorry. I’d let it go and keep an eye on it. You might be alright, but if the headlights cut out one day and you’re in the neighborhood, bring it back and we’ll take another look.”
I thank him for his maharishi-like advice and hit the road before he finds a reason to charge me something.
That night, about 40 miles from home, it starts raining. I go to turn my high beams on and notice my headlights aren’t working at all. As I look at my rearview mirror a police car looms up behind me with its lights flashing and siren wailing. I reach for my license and find an empty pocket instead of my wallet.
The police car dash cam video from that night is grainy, but in the interaction that ensued, it appears that a patrol officer and a man in a cape and clown makeup are having a spirited conversation about the crippling pain of high beam finger.
Ron, my mechanic, who saw the video on the news that night, turned to his wife and said, “Look, Tina, there’s the clown that was in my shop today.”
Just for the record, it takes one to know one, Ron. And when I come back to get the headlights fixed, I’m bringing you my ticket for causing temporary blindness in a police officer by excessively flashing my high beams.
But don’t worry. It’s only $325.
Dash cam that!
Alan Williamson is an award-winning writer with 27 years in the field of true fiction (advertising). A practical man who knows that writing for a living is risky going, he has taken steps to pursue a second, more stable career as a leggy super model. Alan can be reached at alwilly@bellsouth.net. © 2011 Alan Williamson.
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the Genbu-Kai Karate School traveled to Santa Ana, California to compete in the 42nd Annual Goodwill Championships. The students had the opportunity to participate in seminars, conducted by world recognized instructors in karate, kobudo (Okinawan weapons), and Batto (Japanese sword). The two day competition comprised of more than five-hundred competitors total, from all around the world including the US, Canada and Mexico. The students competed in kata (form), kumite (sparring), weapons kata and sparring, and sword kata and cutting. Ron Martin took 1st place in adult intermediate sparring, 2nd place in adult intermediate forms, and 3rd place in beginner adult sword kata divisions. Joshua Cammarata took 1st place in junior weapons kata, and 1st place in junior weapons sparring. This was Josh’s first time competing! 
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