Like any other modern vehicle, my car has a handy remote that allows me to lock or unlock my car, or to open the trunk. And, of course, with one press of a button, it allows me to totally freak out my car. The button says “Panic,” and considering the car’s reaction, I suppose it’s accurate; I’m just not sure what sort of black magic automakers use to induce panic in so many automobiles.

Anyway, the other day, I was on my way home from work — in fact, I was close to pulling into my driveway — and without warning, my car went into a panic. I was still driving down the road, but my car was making noise like it was a newly-deputized police car: lights flashing, horn honking, driver shocked and bewildered. Wherever the emergency was, I hoped my car would take us there — I was mystified and, apparently, just along for the ride. (Roughly translated, I believe my car was saying something like: “HOLY HAND GRENADE, THE WORLD IS EXPLODING, GET THEE TO A NUNNERY!”)

A few seconds later, after I finished being surprised, I realized that I had managed to trap my handy remote between my knee and the steering column, and that had caused my car to lose its cool. I pressed that magical red button, and my car immediately returned to its normal emotionless state.

But now I know my car is just one button away from another emotional meltdown. Perhaps I should look into counseling for my car. Or medication.

(Oddly enough, a few weeks earlier, I managed to pop my trunk while I was driving. That was a real accomplishment: the button must be pressed twice to open the trunk. Fortunately, I was on a city street, so it was easy to stop and close the trunk.)