Hal, Dave And The VCR    

By TAD BARTIMUS

We know we're at the mercy of our machines. We never think about it when they're working, but once in a while we feel what the astronaut Dave felt when confronted by HAL, the rogue computer in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey. HAL went haywire and took over his human operators' lives. Arthur C. Clarke, who co-wrote the screenplay with director Stanley Kubrick, even had the deviant computer knocking off Dave's fellow astronauts "for the good of the mission."

2001: A Space Odyssey came out in an era of rotary telephones, standard three-speed stick shift cars and black-and-white televisions with snow. Now our lives are run by computers we can't program, chips we can't eat and cell phones that summon us even in the bathroom. Our TV shows are in color, our cars verbally admonish us for not fastening our seatbelts and our telephones can give us grandma waving to us in her housecoat.

The only thing worse than being a slave to our own malfunctioning gadgets is being a slave to somebody else's. I thought about this while sitting in a garage in the wilds of Wyoming.

"Don't spend money on a rental car," our generous friends had said, "use our old one, it's just sitting in the driveway." Sounded like a good idea at the time. I ignored Shakespeare's warning that "neither a borrower, nor a lender be; for loan oft loses both itself and friend" and we took off down the road.

My dad always said it was better to pay your own way than cut corners and pay the price. My dad and Shakespeare were both very wise men. We were luxuriating in vintage leather seats and experimenting with the sun roof when we realized we were hot. REALLY hot. Even though it was 90 degrees outside, the heater was on full blast and we couldn't shut it off. Then the battery went dead. 

The garage parking lot was full of pickups. The blue-jeaned service manager sauntered over to ask: "What's wrong with your outfit?" This did not bode well for fixing a German-made, 20-year-old computerized car from the Big City.

"Don't know a thing about 'em," said the manager cheerfully. But we were in luck. Just as beer is beer, batteries are batteries. We got a new one, disengaged the heater, forgot about the onboard computer and drove away, grateful as always for the kindness of such strangers as Rick and Shane at Sheridan Motors.

Turns out they were used to seeing smoking vans, SUVs with terminal alternators and Type-A city folks insisting that if they don't get to Yellowstone National Park by sundown their children would never, ever get a chance to see a bear again.

"We try to remain calm, promise to take care of them, sit them down in front of the TV, offer them a soda," said Rick, gesturing toward a half-dozen stranded families contentedly watching The Weather Channel in the air-conditioned waiting room. "You two fit the same profile." 

Only a day late reaching the home we'd promised to housesit, we found the dog, hanging planters and goldfish in the pond just fine despite our delay. We decided to check phone messages; try as we might, the number "18" just kept blinking at us. We pushed all the buttons, tried various combinations, even took off the plastic top. Nothing. 

We gave up and sat down in front of the TV for a relaxing evening of mindlessness. There were three clickers. 

You guessed it.

"Just what do you think you are doing, Dave? …I know everything hasn't been quite right with me but I can assure you now, very confidently, that it’s going to be alright again… Dave. Stop. Stop. Will you stop, Dave?… I'm afraid, Dave... My mind is going. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it…"

My husband played the piano. I read a book. 

Goodbye, HAL. 

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