Idiot Lights

Idiot Lights

The trouble with idiot lights, you see,
Is a problem that goes, perhaps,
farther than just me.

There's abundant ignorance
That floats in the fog
In a land where machines
Daily measure breath grog.

It's more than the numbers
Aggregating some crime,
It's the feeling that
Something is happening.
Somehow, the wonderful experience
Doesn't seem to be mine.

The idiot light turned red
On the car dash.
Just the observation
Almost made me crash.

The warning, foreboding,
Read "check gauges."

While sitting at the light,
I scanned all the stages
Of all information
The car shares with me,
I sit, confused,
Raging at technology.

The gas wasn't empty,
The oil gauge is fine,
The engine is not hot,
Battery volts seemed online.

After hearing a honk,
I drove down the road.
The engine worked fine,
But my head held a load,
Of the problems awaiting
The idiot who couldn't decipher
The idiot light code.

No problems yet,
With the end,
Undoubtedly, in sight.


Then, as I was using
My copier last night,
A new beeping message,
Complete with a word chain,
"Printer ink low."
That happens like bird rain.

Try as I might
To follow directions,
Came a new unique message:
"Insert cartridge right."

I opened the lid
To see what was the matter,
Then came horrible clacking,
And tic, tic, tic-clicking
With an awful loud patter.

I shut the lid, and said a quick prayer,
Hoping God could save me from taking a dare,
And shooting the damn thing then and there.

With a website visit after too many clicks,
I found the answer, to my problem a fix.
There among the faqs sat my big break
(Think about it, Dummy,
Did you take off the pink tape?)

So now I sit here, contemplating,
Perhaps, I should consider
Getting out more, and dating.

The odds are better
. . . with two idiots instead of one.