You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.
My lights staying on for no reason.
I pull into my garage last night, as I do every single night of my life.
I turn off the lights and shut off the engine.
As I start to exit, I notice a spot light on the water heater in front of me.
“What the ….”
My words trail off. I am confused. I look in the rear view mirror.
I think that a police man is behind me shining a light into my open garage.
Is there a convict hiding? Did I make an illegal U-turn? Did that warrant out of Tia Juana for Andre Cordoba finally find its way back to me?
I scan the darkness. The driveway is black. The road is black. The neighborhood outside my garage a desolate wasteland of quiet.
I turn my attention to the water heater, being illuminated like the fence of a German stallag.
“Where is that light coming from?”
My instrumentation is dark. I check to see that the car is off. I pause. It is quiet.
I exit the car and walk to the front. The right front head light is bright as a collapsing star.
It is bleeding light, pushing light, forcing a heavy concentration of light forward.
But why? Why is it on. Or better yet, why won’t it shut off.
I feel the head lamp.
YIKES.
Is burning hot to the touch, like a hot plate at a soup kitchen.
I bang it, thinking that there is a short.
When it doubt smack something, right?
The light stays on.
I immediately think of a dozen things that could happen.
Is it going to run down the battery? Is it going to catch on fire in the middle of the night while I sleep?
I jump back in the driver seat and crank the car over.
The engine starts right up.
The water heater is still illuminated by a light that would make any Broadway performer smile.
I turn on the headlights.
Both lights now come on.
I pull back the high beams.
The little blue dot on my dash illuminates.
There is a mirror on the far wall and the lights bounce back into my face.
“Aaarghhh.”
I shut off the lights.
The instrumentation on my control panel again goes dark, but the single light source blaring against the wall remains.
It’s 11:30 pm and I just want to go inside and relax. I’m wearing a shirt and tie and popping the hood and dealing with grease and grime and car trouble is not what I want to do.
But I have no choice.
I pop the hood and stare at this dirty quagmire of parts.
It’s like slicing open a stomach and the intestines popping out.
It’s coils and parts and mechanisms covered with road grime.
It’s all best left under the hood to do its silent job.
Instead I’m forced to deal with it.
I begin unfastening the battery cables. They are stiff like an old man who has been in a wheel chair for 10,000 miles.
I push them down, trying to gain some flexibility, but like a snake trying to crawl back home, they snap forward.
Metal wire touches metal battery post.
SPARK!
There is a spark and the light house beacon emanating from my grill turns back on.
It’s as if the battery and the light are alive, thinking on their own, activated by a higher intelligence.
“You are more than a battery. You are a light. You must enjoy the garage tonight,” the higher plane of intelligence utters.
I pull the cable away from the post terminating the connection.
The light fades.
Darkness. I feel like I have won a small victory.
I use a piece of duct tape to hold the cables away from the battery terminals.
I stare at the battery for a moment, challenging the springy cables to disobey me.
The duct tape does its job and I walk in the house.
I change clothes, wash my hands and sit on the couch with a beer.
I Google: My headlights won’t turn off.
Before I can finish my sentence 10,000 web sites pop up.
Apparently I am not the only one who has had this happen before.
Some of the answers are inane telling me that some cars head lights stay on for a few seconds after the ignition is turned off.
“Stupid Site,” I exclaim.
I exit out of this yahoo induced stupor.
I’ve only had the car for 180,000 miles. I’d think I’d have noticed what the headlights do by mile 125,000, I think to myself.
I click on the next entry.
“Sometimes the brights get hung up, the internet mechanic says. He recommends flicking the lever back and forth a few times.”
This is the same guy who tells you to turn your computer on and off to fix a problem.
There are quick fixes that include pulling a fuse, multiple fuses, and disconnecting the battery terminals.
“You may lose your set radio stations.” one internet grease monkey warns.
Ooooh that could be problematic, I think, shaking my head.
I take a swig of my beer satisfied knowing that removing the battery cables is the only appropriate action at mid night.
Battery issues?
It makes me think back to my days college days at Scarff Street when popping the hood and taking the battery out of the engine compartment was a nightly occurrence.
That had nothing to do with power issues, and everything to do with theft.
It was senior year of college in South Central Los Angeles. I lived in a rough neighborhood where police choppers were constantly over head and gun fire often echoing throughout.
There was a Mexican Gang that lived in the alley behind our apartment. They called themselves the Harpys. I’m not sure what a Harpy is, but I’m guessing it’s a cross between venereal disease and chum.
The Harpys made a living out of stealing cars and car parts.
I learned this the hard way losing 2 batteries in one week.
After buying expensive truck batteries at the Pep Boys, I decided that I had to outwit the Harpys.
I began taking my battery into the house every night.
I use to leave a note in the battery compartment that simply said: “Hey Harpy’s F-You!”
Carrying your battery into your home every single time you park is a drag. It’s heavy. It’s dirty. And when you and 3 roommates are all placing a truck battery on a coffee table, well it just takes up a lot of room.
Can you imagine walking into a home and instead of flowers on the coffee table you see four dirty car batteries.
You’d think you were in a Tia Juana rock house.
That’s the way we lived for a year. I was a punk ass kid. It was fun. Popping your hood and carrying a battery into the house became as normal as brushing your teeth.
But now?
Well now, popping my hood in a shirt and tie and dealing with a battery that will never be stolen is a major inconvenience.
The next morning I walk to my garage.
It’s quiet. I am glad I didn’t spontaneously combust.
I make a cup of coffee and walk into the garage. The hood is up. The light is off.
I tear off the duct tape and touch the terminals.
BLAM
The light house of luminescence pops on.
“damn It.”
I call my mechanic.
“My lights won’t shut off.”
“He laughs. Sounds like a smart chip got stupid”, he tells me. “Bring it on in.”
“OK,” I say with a shrug.
It’s a long way from the thieving, thugging, dangerous days of the Harpys.
I close the garage door and take a sip of my coffee.
As the strong aroma of Starbucks fills my mind, I think back to the days of the Harpys and stolen batteries and living life on a shoe string with few cares.
Life’s Crazy™