Touchscreen Car Troubles

Jesus fucking Christ, who the hell designed this goddamn car? What kind of sadistic techie bastard thought it’d be a fantastic idea to replace a perfectly functional physical knob with a goddamn digital touchscreen? Oh yeah, because when I’m driving at 75 miles per hour on a goddamn freeway, I really want to scroll through an entire screen menu just to turn up the AC a goddamn smidge. Seriously, that’s how people end up dead. Fuck me.

Okay, calm down. Deep breaths. You’re fine. Except you’re not, because it’s like I’m piloting a spaceship built by someone who never drove a fucking car in their entire goddamn life. Alright, where’s the defogger? The windshield’s fogging up, and of course it couldn’t have happened at a better time—middle of traffic, rain coming down in sheets like the sky’s fucking pissed off at me, and I’m driving blind like some idiot contestant in a death-defying game show.

“Defogger,” I mutter. Where the hell is it? I jab the screen, which brings up what looks like some goddamn app store, for fuck’s sake. This car is a rolling iPhone. An overpriced, life-threatening iPhone. Alright, go back. Back. BACK. Jesus, did I just turn on the rear fucking camera? Yeah, that’s exactly what I need: a high-definition image of the panic-stricken asshole tailgating me. Okay. Okay, let’s just—

“Menu,” I whisper through gritted teeth. The tip of my finger is already sweating like it’s afraid it’ll do something wrong. It probably will. The touchscreen hums under my touch like some smug bastard enjoying my misery. Climate control? Oh, good, yes! That’s it! I hit the climate option, only to be greeted by a goddamn sub-menu that requires me to choose between “Custom” or “Eco-Friendly Mode.” Are you serious right now?

Listen, I’m just trying not to die. “Custom.” I jab it, and the screen lags. LAGS! This is not a good time for the car to channel my grandma’s shitty Wi-Fi! Fuck it all. The windshield is so fogged up now I’m basically staring through a milky cataract. And is it too much to ask for a physical button? A tactile, beautiful button that clicks and does its fucking job without interrogating me about “preference settings?”

Why are the seat warmers on?! When the hell did I even touch that? My ass feels like it’s been microwaved, and that goddamn icon is glowing like it’s proud. Yeah, congrats, you’re toasting my backside while my windshield’s about to ice over. Priorities! Who do I sue when I end up in a ditch, half-roasted with a fogged-up view of my impending death?

Deep breath, I tell myself, because apparently, I’ve got to be Zen master Buddha on top of being a driver in this hellish contraption. Finally, the defogger icon. THERE it is! Small, barely noticeable, hiding like it’s ashamed of existing. I stab the screen with all the pent-up fury in my finger, and mercifully, the fan starts blasting.

Oh, thank fuck. Sweet, cold, beautiful clarity. Now all I have to do is pray to whatever benevolent force out there that I don’t accidentally enable some self-destruct mode or the Bluetooth karaoke feature. Who knows? In this goddamn touchscreen monstrosity, anything seems possible.