Talk Back: Beware the four-wheeled stoolpigeon
We used to get away with everything. Like crawling under the flap of the circus tent instead of using the regular entrance. Or smuggling a 40-count box of Milk Duds into the movies — that’s why pockets were invented — instead of paying five times more at the theater snack counter.
For the one that held only two.
Nobody noticed. Or if they did, they kept their big yaps shut. Boys will be boys and all that sort of rot. But today, such shenanigans would land us in Alcatraz for a half century. Even something as minor as your front bumper extending a millimeter past the painted line in the parking stall means 99 luftballoons … make that 99 cellphone videographers … will start livestreaming your worthless hide across every social media platform invented.
Not to mention some that are still under development.
With the exception of the politically well-connected — who despite facing a slew of embezzlement charges get special dispensation to go play the horsies at the Derby — everyone from that self-righteous biddy Mrs. Johnson down the street to your best friend forever is primed to rat you out the second you deviate one iota from the straight and narrow. And that goes double for the one who’s promised to always stand by you through thick and thin. Your mother.
Your mother, the car, that is.
Turns out that bucket of bolts you’ve been tooling up and down the road in has been keeping tabs on how often you peel out from the four-way stop, if you tach it up to 10,000 before shifting from first to second gear, and how often you stand on the brakes while sliding through the hairpin turns on U.S. 12. All of which leads to your insurance bill going through the roof.
For being a menace to the community.
It’s all thanks to that cool internet-connected gadgetry most modern-day four-wheeled buggies are packed to the gills with. Like the app that summons the rescue crews whenever you’re stuck in the swamp and can’t get out, advanced security features, and enhanced entertainment offerings. Turn that stuff on, and she’s no longer good old Betsy or whatever else you’ve named her.
But more like Louie the Narc.
Hammer down or suddenly skid to a stop, and it’ll squeal on you to the car companies which promptly sell it to the global data brokers the insurance outfits then ply with buckets of cash to obtain. Because if they can prove you morph into the maniacal Mr. Toad the moment you get behind the wheel of a motor car, they can jack your rates through the roof. And don’t think you’ll avoid detection by keeping the connection turned off.
That voluminous bill of sale you signed without reading at the dealership either authorized them to automatically activate it or revealed your data would be shared with a third party the instant you turned it on.
So what if the only reason you went from 70 to zero in 10 feet was to avoid flattening little Johnny when he darted out in front of you. Or that you burned rubber to avoid getting creamed by an oncoming train after getting stuck on the tracks. You’re a rotten driver who must be severely punished.
With a 25-50% auto insurance premium hike.
A pretty good reason to make your next set of wheels a Model T instead. Not the fanciest thing around nor the fastest. But the cool factor is through the roof. Even better, you get to introduce her as, “My mother the Tin Lizzie.”
Instead of, “My mother the snitch.”
Talk Back with Doug Spade and Mike Clement is heard every Saturday morning from 9 a.m. to noon Eastern Time on Buzz 102.5 FM and online at www.dougspade.com and www.lenconnect.com.
This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Doug Spade: Beware the four-wheeled stoolpigeon
