Open Writing

I drive a German car, which, for the purposes of this column, shall remain nameless, except to say that it is not a Mercedes, a VW, a Porsche or an Opel. This is the second car of this brand that I have owned. I drove the first one for over 200,000 trouble-free miles, and then decided it deserved a rest, even though it was still running well. I loved that car, and its successor is just as appealing.

I choose the brand because I enjoy driving, as opposed to simply being transported, and I admire the reliability and pragmatism of German engineering. Recently, however, my loyalty has been tested. As I normally do in the summer, I left the car in my garage for the two months I was away in Connecticut. Up to the time I departed it was running normally.

When I returned, it started at the first try, but when I attempted to accelerate away, the engine died. After four repetitions of this, it then ran perfectly well for the rest of my errands, even though I stopped and started the car several times. Aha! I thought, the dreaded vapor lock. My garage is not air conditioned and regularly heats up to well over 90˚F (32˚C) in the summer, so obviously the gas in the line from the tank was evaporating.

For the next 10 days, the problem recurred every time I drove the car. Plainly, whatever magic device the Germans had incorporated to overcome such a problem wasn’t working, so there was nothing for it but to take my baby in for a service.

Back a few years, when you took your vehicle into the repair shop with a problem that you could describe accurately, a light of recognition would shine in the mechanic’s eyes, and he would immediately proffer an explanation and a plan to fix it.
Not so these days. My carefully worded account of the problem was met with stony faced indifference, and the tight-lipped response that their computer diagnostic system would decide what was wrong and what to do to put it right. I almost stood to attention and clicked my heels. They would call me later with the computer’s decision. I resisted the temptation to descend into sarcasm and ask, if the computer was so smart, why it couldn’t call me its self.

The call came later that afternoon. The throttle housing needed to be replaced for a hefty $800! When I had calmed down enough to think straight, I asked how come the car started without a problem when surely the throttle housing was a part of that function also. The answer was not convincing, and it seemed to me that the computer had it wrong, but there was no getting past the company’s unshakable faith in Hal.

Two days later, when I arrived to pick up my car, I saw it stop and start three times as it was being driven the hundred yards from the repair bay to where I was waiting. So it was back to Hal, who later that day coughed up the decision that the engine wiring harness would have to be replaced. “What?! The whole engine harness?” I spluttered.

As before, the rationale was completely unconvincing. I picked up the car four days later, and this time it started and ran as it should, but I would bet money that the engine harness had nothing to do with it.

When computer diagnostics for cars was first introduced I was encouraged. In my mind it meant that no longer would a successful repair be conditional on the expertise of the mechanic, and surely this would have the effect of reducing maintenance costs to the driver. Then one day, when I was waiting for my car while it was getting a routine service, I picked up a automobile trade magazine to while away the time.
The banner on the cover announced, “Page 10. Part One of a Series on Training Your Mechanics to Interpret Computer Diagnostics.” Fearfully, I opened the magazine at page 10. My new-found optimism evaporated as I read that a computer generated diagnostic report could be interpreted a number of ways, and depended on the mechanic’s skill and training to decide how it should be implemented. Oh dear.

In the years since then, cars have become more complicated and apparently mechanics haven’t gotten any smarter, even though they’re now called “Technicians.” “A rose by any other name…,” as the saying goes. My faith in German engineering and engineers remains intact, but I’m not as confident about their computers.