“The door is Ajar. The door is Ajar. The door is Ajar.”
This all began back in 1984 with Chrysler’s driver’s seat. I remember being 10 when I first encountered that “talking car”—it felt both amazing and a little sinister. Growing up, I was just a kid who pretended to ride a banana seat like a bike, inspired by things like Knight Rider. By the way, that theme song? You should totally check it out.
Our first slant 6 engine was in a 1969 Dodge Dart (white, four-door) that my mother bought for $200 back in 1982.
I guess we thought that was a pretty “smart” car for its time. Looking back, if we had known that by 2015 cars would essentially become like a steel parent, making all our decisions for us, we probably wouldn’t have been so excited about what we called “progress.”
Motor outlet
It started with simple “helpful alerts,” like that warning about the door opening from Chrysler. And now? You’re getting a digital touchscreen that does almost everything—except maybe what you actually want to do while driving.
What I find surprising—and kind of annoying—is that cars today feel more like rolling gadgets than actual vehicles. It’s like they won’t shut up, buzzing with the distinct beeps and chimes that remind you when your food’s done, or whatever. They seem designed to inspire you instead of just getting you where you need to go.
For instance, my car is a 2012 Prius. I didn’t pick it for eco-friendly reasons (not a chance). No, I bought it because it emphasizes value and reliability, much like those sturdy old Toyotas. And honestly, for a 2012, it’s not too shabby.
But even with that, it’s ridiculous how the warning chime for the seatbelt could go off—50 times in a row. Yes, I literally counted. It’s like, really? Do you need to identify me purely because the car is on? As if the giant orange warning signs and silly emojis dancing on the dashboard aren’t enough.
Nanny Camry
Like other modern vehicles, I get the feeling my Prius thinks it knows more about driving than I do. It seems the engineers at Toyota decided they would handle things like gear range, torque, and wheel spin and not trust us on that.
This car is built for fuel efficiency, which means the transmission is always fluctuating. It’s the slowest and most gentle gearbox I’ve ever experienced, really painful at times when you need it to shift gears quickly.
And don’t even get me started on snowy driveways in Vermont—thanks to the “traction control,” the car can’t just switch off. Well-intentioned as it is, my Toyota struggles to get the grip it needs in the snow. No way I can park safely out there in winter.
Manuals or old autos that had clutches used to let drivers control the gears. Now, the gearshift is this digital joystick that offers almost no real feedback and operates on a digital timer instead of syncing with actual shifting.
Sunday Driver
But newer cars? They’re getting worse. A friend of mine bought a 2022 BMW SUV. He’s all about high technology and automation; I’m certainly not. He couldn’t wait for me to drive this thing, just to see how it drives itself.
Which it does! It keeps lanes and brakes as needed. Impressive? Yes. Creepy? Absolutely. I’m not a fan, and even friends my age don’t seem to get it. This kind of tech only risks further degrading our driving skills.
It’s reminiscent of airline pilots today. Modern jets are so automated that they fly manually maybe only about 10% of the time. “Stick Skills,” as they call them, are waning—what happens when it’s time for the pilot to take control in an emergency?
Built tough
That said, I can’t deny modern cars are more reliable than ever. I’m actually grateful my Toyota has never failed to start, nor has it ever stalled.
My previous Toyota was the same. Honestly, the only reason I don’t still have that one is because I rear-ended someone at 20 mph.
For those who remember starting cars with carburetors while praying for the engine to turn over, you know how essential reliability is in vehicles. Old cars used to rust; I remember the ’80s when cars under ten years old were barely holding on.
The build quality of today’s cars is certainly a step up.
There is no Caprice to pass
But I find myself longing for simpler cars. The lovely, easy ones I cherished while growing up. A spacious V8, smooth-riding American sedan really needs to make a comeback.
Take my 1986 Chevrolet Caprice Brougham. It felt like a Cadillac for blue-collar folks. That silver beauty, complete with a black vinyl top and plush velour seats, was like a hotel lobby on wheels. You could slam down at train crossings at 50 mph without even noticing.
On my first night in Vermont, I drove my car off a tow truck and headed towards my friend’s place on a dark, hilly road. Naturally, I hit a deer at 35 mph. The deer ended up in the ditch, but my Chevy? It barely flinched. No damage at all when I got to my friend’s house.
I was captivated by tilting
But the cars I truly miss weren’t big or flashy. They were simply the best craftsmanship available. The slant-six engines that could fit neatly in a compact space introduced back in the ‘60s were a marvel.
Those slant-sixes were practically magic. They just didn’t die. My first slant-six powered a 1969 Dodge Dart (white, four-door), which my mom picked up in ’82 for $200.
We drove that car all over Southern California until it finally rusted beyond repair. The junkyard driver fired it up out of curiosity, and it roared to life like you might imagine if you’ve ever had a slant-six. Those engines had this soft, steady ticking sound, almost like an oiled sewing machine.
My mother shed tears as the car disappeared around the corner, and honestly, I did too.
Eventually, I bought a 1975 Dart, which had air-conditioning so cold it could cool penguins, and it took me around Virginia as I reported on turnip crimes for years—all for $500.
An eau de to Francine
Years later, I scored the car I missed the most. A 1966 Plymouth Belvedere II, modified with a Super 6 double barrel carburetor, providing extra kick with its 225 cubic inches of slant-six. She was deep navy blue with chrome details and, at just 46,000 miles, was practically pristine when I got her in 2010. She started up in a flash and never once stalled.
Francine turned heads everywhere and even caught the eye of some teenagers asking for a prom ride.
Plus, she was practically theft-proof. Not only did she have a manual shift with a clutch but also a three-speed on the column. Put that in front of a Gen Z kid, and watch the confusion unfold.
I think tagging photos on an old phone is better, but here’s one from just days before I sold her:
now that is a car.
Tell us about the cars you love and the ones you’ve lost in the comments!
