Jay Shoemaker's Pet Peeve Revealed!

Why do manufacturers of high end cars think I’m an idiot? Their automobiles tell me when their tires need air, when the coolant is low and when it’s time for an oil change. They [still] remind me to buckle-up, close my door and take my key. They warn me of approaching objects (front and rear). Yes, I know: this dumbing-down suits the majority of wealthy car buyers, who’d rather read a treatise on Keynesian economics than check their oil. Still, you’ve got to draw the line somewhere. Sun visor stickers are my personal line in the sand.

I just spent $270 replacing my Mercedes’ sun shields with virgin visors– just to rid myself of those bothersome airbag warning labels. I used to peel them off myself, but the stickers have become tackier and tackier (in every sense); my patient peeling and wiping is no longer effective. In my Audi and BMW, I’m not as lucky: the warning labels are embossed into the visor, both OEM and aftermarket.

For all I know, it’s illegal to remove airbag warning stickers. I’m not concerned. For years, I have been removing stickers from my pillow which read, “Warning, these stickers are not to be removed under penalty of law!” I’ve never been arrested for this desecration of my own personal property. As far as I know, there is no warrant out for my arrest. The day the cops check for missing airbag stickers is the day I buy a big bore shotgun and join Oregon’s survivalists.

The airbag stickers warn you that short people and small children can be injured by airbags. No, really? More importantly, what’s it got to do with me? First, I’m not short and I am childless. Second, I don’t let kids ride in the front seat of my cars. (If I had kids, I’d consider it my responsibility to discover the safest way to carry them.) Third, short people have free will; they can weigh-up the dangers of front seat airbags and decide whether or not to drive a car, sit in the passenger seat or sacrifice their pride and jump in the back.

Why can’t I just sign a release when I purchase my vehicle stating that I understand that airbags are dangerous? After I purchase a vehicle in California, I have to sign statements saying I understand that there is no cooling off period and that the dealer can check my credit and invade my privacy and charge me $2.00 to inspect my tires. I never saw a sticker that warned me about this.

I want to know which lawsuit made these stickers a requirement in every vehicle sold in the U.S. Who determined that airbags were the foremost danger facing automobile drivers (literally)? Can a brightly-colored written warning label immutably attached to the most obvious (and therefore most annoying) location in our cars solve the problem? Are the people that need these labels even reading them? Can they even read?

Manufacturers should be concerned about more perilous threats to our safety. What about yakking on the cell or wiping snot off the kid in the [airbagless] backseat? How about drinking and driving? Fastening my seat belt? Speeding, not checking my mirrors or aggressive lane changing? Eating? Smoking (imagine how long that one would be)? Don’t these behaviors cause more accidental deaths than “killer airbags”? Perhaps there should be a warning label telling me to never attempt to drive in the city of Boston. No, instead I’m warned about a passive safety device that I’ll probably (hopefully?) never use.

Other than killing all the lawyers, there is an answer to this litigious lunacy: a test to determine whether or not you need to be protected from your own stupidity. (Once upon a time, a high school diploma or a driving test would’ve done the trick.) If you prove you possess a modicum of intelligence and simple common sense, you could carry a card that exempted you from these Nanny State warnings.

Your car’s owner’s manual would be half the size. You could just know that objects in the side mirror aren’t as close as they appear. And there'd be other benefits. When you bought a coffee from McDonalds, you could drink a cup of hot coffee that didn’t warn you not to burn yourself. You could fall asleep on the airplane in front of the flight attendants while they demonstrate to the knuckle-draggers how to buckle a seatbelt. Instead of a warning on cigarette packs, it would simply say, ‘enjoy.’

And the next time I visit a dealer, I could present my card and they would say, “Ah, Mr. Shoemaker, you want to look at these cars over here.” And there would sit my dream car: an automobile without idiot lights or warning labels.