Do we really need car alarms?
I had to have one because the dealer insisted, as a term of my lease… but right from the get-go, it was nothing but trouble.
Even before I could get it off the lot, it went berserk, honking and flashing and wailing away, bringing everyone in the dealership at a dead run.
“What’s the problem?” growled my salesman, fingers in his ears to stop the noise.
“Where’s the thief?” panted the service manager, brandishing a tire iron.
There, at the center of the commotion, was… me, standing in front of my own new car, futilely waving my remote alarm key, pushing every button with no success.
“Hi, everybody,” I said sheepishly. “Just trying to get into my new car.”
“Here, give me that,” said my salesman, taking the keys. He pushed one button. The car instantly silenced itself and unlocked.
“Good luck!” everyone yelled, as I finally drove off.
That alarm never behaved.
Sometimes it barked and clicked but refused to open.
Other times it would click and bark, but nothing was locked.
Either way, more often than not, it regarded my own key in the ignition as a violation, and set itself off. It got so my toddler would see me reach for the alarm key and mutter his own little “dammit.”
I brought that car back to the dealer time and again. “The alarm must be broken,” I’d tell the technicians.
Every time, they would disagree. “It’s working perfectly,” they assured me. “But perhaps you could spend a little more time with the instruction book?”
Good idea. That book is more than 100 pages long, filled with sentences like “For optimal use of automatic timing device, activate subsequence A…”! I’d have better luck looking up a few car thieves, and asking them for help.
I wonder, for instance, how a thief would handle the timer.
My alarm gave me exactly 30 seconds, after getting out and closing my door, to race around the car, open, and close anyone else’s — or it would take matters into its own hands, and set itself off.
My problem was, — the whole reason I needed the car — I had two small children that I drove around with, every day.
And there is nothing you can do with a small child in 30 seconds, let alone getting him into or out of a car.
“Come on, sweetie, quit fooling around with the seat belt right this second and get out of the car!
Why? Because if you don’t let Mommy shut the door, we’re going to hear— ”
“WhooooooOOOOOOOOP! HONK! WhooooooooOOOOOOOOP! HONK!”
“Dammit!”
Any attempt to hustle them only insures that whatever you had hoped to accomplish in 30 seconds will now take ten minutes and 30 seconds, to allow for the screaming tantrum first.
Oh, well. At least it will drown out the alarm.
Even when I was alone with the thing, it’s a menace. I’m sitting in my car, trying to start it with the ignition key — I must be a burglar! It went into a full Code Four, and trapped me inside.
Ignition locked out; doors locked; no way to start the car to either turn off the alarm or re-set it; power windows all the way up… I couldn’t even yell out for help.
Thank goodness for my cell phone. I used it to call my husband:
“I need your help..”
“Judy! What’s wrong?”
“I’m trapped…”
“Where are you? Honey, I can’t hear you, someone’s car alarm is going off!”
“It’s me, with the car alarm!”
“Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you.”
“I’m inside the car, in the driveway! Stick your head out the front door and you’ll see!”
I can’t imagine what purpose this feature serves.
Frankly, if someone tries to steal my car in the middle of the night, and does not succeed, I want him to get away.
The last thing I need is to come downstairs in the morning and find some criminal, trapped in my car for eight hours, desperate to escape.
And if the point of a car alarm is to draw attention to somebody stealing it, I can tell you, no one turns a hair.
So is there really any need for it to go on and on? As far as I’m concerned, if the alarm is still going after five minutes, you can have the car.
The whole neighborhood will thank you.
Just do me one little favor – would you let me out, first?
