I’ve racked my feeble brain until it’s become red raw. Try as I might, I simply can’t understand it.
I’ve scratched that irritable pimple that lives on the top of my head until it hurts but it hasn’t done any good.
It’s a mystery.
I’ve searched and searched the web until my internet disconnected itself, but it didn’t understand me.
“There must be a shortage of headlamp bulbs in Canada,” I told myself and at once anxiety set in because this is a serious issue and I just had to sit down.
Well, when I need to know, I need to know, and a trip to the local store calmed my fears.
There they were, rows upon rows of them, hanging there like little soldiers and much to my surprise they were generally quite affordable – in fact no more than that must-do trip to Timmys.
“So it can’t be availability or cost,” I assured myself and crossed those off the list.
“Ahh.” I thought. “In that case it must be that they’re hard to identify and find.”
“But,” I replied. “aren’t broken headlamp bulbs really easy to spot, after all they don’t hide themselves and, well, when they don’t work you can’t see them, after all that’s the point.”
“Ahh…,” I told myself. “In that case they must be difficult to replace.”
“But, ” I reassured myself, “remember the last time you changed that bulb? It was easy to find because, well you could see where it was, and although that special tool, that screwdriver, was hard to dig out of the toolbox, you did manage to change it all by yourself without having to cry for help or breaking any bones.”
“I know, I know,” I agreed. “But getting off that comfy couch in the first place and putting the beer down, well that was really difficult and it did take some effort.”
Now I know I’m a grumpy old sod, and I do tend to moan about everything from the weather, the outrageous price of wine-making kits, and the amount of tax I pay, but this problem of dead headlamp bulbs is a serious problem, for other road users at least.
Time and time again, on dark nights, I’ll be driving along some unlit back road only to be met by a single bright light heading my way.
One so bright and so blinding that it must be on main beam because with only one light working the other driver needs to blind everyone else so that he or she can see where they’re going.
“Bugger!” I’ll shout at myself. “Not another one! Is it a motorcycle or a truck? If it’s a truck what side of the truck is it on? How much space should I give it to be safe?”
I find myself having to slow down and hug the side of the road, just in case, and trust that I don’t end up in a ditch.
Why don’t they fix it?
In fact there are a number of issues here.
1. What is it about so many, otherwise nice responsible adults that they insist on driving cars and trucks on our roads that aren’t fit to be driven?
2. What is it about these irresponsible people that tells them they don’t need to care about other road users?
3. If they can’t be bothered to change something like a light bulb, you have to wonder what condition other parts of the vehicle are in, like brakes and steering?
4. Why, when they’re so easy to spot, don’t the local gendarmerie drag them kicking and screaming to the local pound until they get their lights fixed and throw the book at them on the way?
Like I said, It’s a mystery to me.
David Jackaman, Aldergrove
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