(“She was determined, however, to make it through the whole hour.“)
Well, you see, Officer, it was just a simple misunderstanding . . .” This was the line I was rehearsing as I drove a rental car all week. The car was a Suzuki. Until Tuesday, I knew they made motorcycles and guitars, maybe blenders, but it turns out they’re in the automobile business as well. The particular model I had was a Kizashi—sounds like they’re into health foods too.
In any case, it was a perfectly serviceable vehicle—“peppy”, as they say—but it had one flaw. To make you feel like a Conqueror of Worlds, its speedometer was calibrated all the way up to 160 mph—not that it could likely ever go that fast barring a Thelma and Louise moment. But, consequently, at 80 mph, the needle rested approximately in the eleven o’clock position. That would be incidental to the normal driving experience except that my regular car has fewer pretensions, and at 80, I’m used to the needle pointed over more towards one o’clock. And did I mention that my Kizashi was peppy? Also quieter than my own car which has about 70 thousand more miles on it. So it was pretty easy for the rental to creep its way up towards the stratospheric speeding fine realm without me even noticing. I mean, “Officer, the needle was pointing where I always have it!”
Fortunately, the Law must have been going Dunkin while I was figuring all this out, so I still have my poker money for the month. But it got me to thinking of a clinic episode some time back that revolved (sorry!) around a similar mis-reading of a dial. The rider was a bit out of shape and needed frequent breaks throughout the lesson. She was determined, however, to make it through the whole hour. She was also somewhat vain and seriously nearsighted. No glasses for her!
On the wall of the indoor arena hung a round-faced battery powered clock of about the size that you remember from your elementary school classrooms. The lesson had begun at 9:30, and as my student would pass by the clock, I would see her squinting at it to see how much more time she had to endure until the minute hand would come around to the six o’clock position again.
She had voiced her resolve, so naturally I kept encouraging her to persevere and “gut it out”. But at the same time, every five minutes or so when her back was turned, I would rotate the clock so the minute hand never got any closer to the bottom. Since she couldn’t read the numerals, she could only assume that time just wasn’t passing very fast as she got more and more tired. The spectators saw all this taking place and played along, urging her to hang in there. When the trick was revealed and I rotated the clock 25 minutes worth all at once, she was mightily relieved!
So, if that worked, why couldn’t it be applied to unpeppy vehicles? Suppose you own a Chevy Ohm. Wouldn’t you be happier if the speedometer only went up to 60? Then you could cruise along with the needle in that comfortable, proud one o’clock zone even as you’re being overtaken and passed by bicyclists and golf carts.