Being a dweeb, as I am, has its upside. For, once enlightened, as in the case, for instance, of my dashboard light, which had been dark as night for I don’t know how long, I am struck not only by my intransigent dimness, but also by the wonder that such a simple thing as the clockwise turn of a dial — in this case the dial on my dashboard, which I didn’t even know existed, or, if I had at one time known of its existence had utterly forgotten about — can produce.
I tell you, it was almost a religious experience when, after turning the dial to the right one recent night, the entire panel lit up — engine temperature, gas gauge, odometer, 139,248 miles of mileage, all, all of it was there to see. It was almost a religious experience, nay, it was a religious experience.
“I seen the light! I seen the light!” I shouted as a wonderful sense of well-being washed over me.
I’m telling you, you don’t get these highs if you’re a rational, confident human being, a person, for example, who might consult a manual every now and then. Only dimwits can attain such an astral plane of enlightenment.
So there’s something to be said for innate dweebishness, keeping in mind, of course, that blithe unconcern can kill you, as when a semidetached plastic heating vent that had over the period of at least a year been dangling between the brake pedal and the floorboard finally sluffed off.
I had thought all along that it had been my left foot, perhaps owing to a circulatory problem attending old age, that had been getting in the way, causing me to panic periodically when the pressure applied by my right foot, having shifted over from the gas pedal, did not immediately yield the result intended.
Too soon old, too late smart, they say, an adage that I find oddly comforting, for there may yet be time to live and learn. O, brave new world that has such puzzlement in ’t!