The flight from Philie to Halifax was calm and beautiful with the blue ocean outlining curves of green land. We claimed our rental car at the airport and loaded our luggage, removed it and loaded it again.
My brother-in-law slid behind the wheel with my sister took shotgun, and Steve and I sat in the back. When you rent a car, there are always those first frantic moments while you locate all the buttons and amenities. At this point, we (well, my brother-in-law) were having some trouble locating the controls to adjust the side mirrors. My sister said, "What about these?" as she pointed to a row of icons on the rear-view mirror. Just as my brother-in-law said, "Wait! Don't touch th . . . " she poked at them.
"You have activated your On-Star, on-line emergency system," a computerized voice intoned. "I am connecting you with help."
"No! No!" was accompanied by frantic jabbings.
"Push that power icon!" I recommended, never allowing being in the back seat to prevent me from offering assistance. She pushed at it.
Just as we thought we had it powered down, a disembodied, female voice spoke through the air. She sounded just like the commercials, too. "What is the nature of your emergency?"
"There is no emergency!" my sister yelled in a panic. "We turned this on, and we're too stupid to figure out how to turn it off."
"I can help you with that," and the system shut off, just like that.
We found the mirror adjustment buttons. Eventually my brother-in-law discovered how to turn off the tushie-warmer, and a few minutes later their GPS Lady (theirs is English, with a very cultured voice) found herself and began directing us to our hotel.
The next morning we came out of the hotel and, dragging our suitcases, repeatedly clicked "unlock" in front of a silver Malibu to no avail. Hmm, wronbg car. We meandered all over the parking lot looking for where we'd parked the night before, and I thought, that On-Star lady didn't take care of our emergency. We're still stupid.