YOU LIGHT UP MY CAR STEREO

Click here to return to the main menu.

For once in my life, I stopped something before I got myself into trouble.

I have a history of starting things that I should have never started, and carrying them out far beyond their sensible finales. This includes, but is certainly not limited to: (1) Taking apart numerous household items to “fix” them, only having then to go and buy replacement items when they were not only not fixed, but more broken as well (2) getting a cat and (3) telling a very large individual back in college that I didn’t want to turn down my stereo, and that there was nothing he could do about it.

But maybe I have finally learned when to call it quits. It started several years ago when the light on my car stereo went out. My car has this little square display where it shows you what radio channel you’re on. This was all well and good when the natural light of the sun was there, but at night it was about as effective as a gauze raincoat.

I know what you’re thinking. And you should be ashamed of yourself. Yet others of you are thinking, “Gee, Mike, why didn’t you just turn on the interior light to see it?” And the answer is simple: because the manufacturer of my car apparently uses the lightning bug as its prototype for indoor lights. I think the indoor light in my car may actually work in reverse, sucking any available light from the car. Perhaps I have it set on “Black Hole” instead of “Illuminate.”

So this leaves me with having to drive slowly under street lights to try and see my radio. In all honesty, the way I’m slowing down, hugging the curb and slouched over towards the center of my car, I’m amazed I haven’t seen blue lights behind me and heard a police officer’s loudspeaker scream, “Mr. Downey, pull your car over.”

I asked a friend of mine who knows a lot more about cars than I do what he thought. He thought that it was probably a fuse, he said. I nodded knowingly, and told him I would check it out. Never mind that I have a jug of antifreeze in my garage because someone once told me I should put it in my car, but I have no clue where to put it, so it just sits in my garage. I should have no problem finding something the size of a grain of rice, right?

After about 20 minutes of looking for this fuse thingee, I decided that I couldn’t find it, so it must not be the problem. I went to an auto parts store and asked the gentleman behind the counter if he had any idea. He told me that there was a tiny light bulb that had burned out, and I had to take the face plate off and replace it. Sounds easy enough. I routinely replace light bulbs around my house and have only gotten knocked off a ladder once from electrical shock.

I went out to my car and tried to take the face place off my car stereo. Turns out I would be a really lousy car stereo thief, because I pulled and tugged and pried, and all I was able to do was cut my finger. After a few more pulls and tugs, I noticed that there were these strange little round, black things at each corner of the face plate. As I stared at them in wonder, the small part of my brain that still functions said, “They’re screws.” I stared some more. “Unscrew them, genius,” it said.

Using my trusty screwdriver, I removed all four screws and, sure enough, the face plate eased out from my dash. Unfortunately, it brought the rest of the stereo with it, as it was still firmly attached. I then noticed another screw running through the top of the face plate. Proving that I have all of the brain power of a well rewarded lab rat, I unscrewed the other screw, and sure enough, the face plate came free. As it came out, however, so did the little screen that was the original cause of the problem. And there was no light bulb. In fact, it looked like a tiny television screen, and there were no more screws to unscrew, so I was at a dead-end.

At this point, I thought of several options. I could shake the stereo vigorously, hoping to expel any bad vibes that may be hindering its work. I could try and pry open more parts of the stereo, using something like a steak knife. “Or you could put it back together and live with it like you have for the last few years,” my brain said.

Naturally, I scoffed at this notion. How could I abandon it after I had come so far? Surely I could fix this problem, it was only moments away! I told my brain that we would move forward. As I went to go and fetch the steak knife, however, my brain played its ace in the hole, “And you could go sit on your couch, drinking a beer and watching the game.”

So my stereo is back in one piece, and it works just like it did pre-operative. And I have learned a valuable lesson in all of this: I have learned that my brain is a lot smarter than I am.