Last February I spent several days driving my in-laws around while my mother-in-law had knee replacement surgery and recovery. They insisted I drive their Oldsmobile van because it was easy for them to enter and exit and it had Handicapped plates so I could park near doors.

The first time I got in the driver’s seat and started the engine, I needed to get familiar with the controls so I would know how to lower the windows, flip on the turn signals, turn on the headlights, adjust the temperature, etc. After a few minutes I shut off the engine because I knew it would take a lot of trial and error to figure out the function of each button and switch. I counted the buttons and switches - 75 in all. Yes, there were a total of 75 buttons and switches and many were so small my finger would press two or three at a time instead of the intended middle button. And to make things worse, none of the buttons or switches had words, just symbols that seemed to come from Japan, Europe or Mars.

The switches and buttons started at my left elbow and continued up the armrest. While resting my arm I would open windows and lock doors so I had to keep my arm elevated. Buttons and switches continued around the dash, under the steering wheel column, and two-thirds of the way to the passenger’s side. The radio had about 25 tiny buttons and it was located down low near my right ankle and to operate the radio I had to unlatch my seat belt and lean down and to the right taking my eyes off the road. There were buttons on the center console and a row above the rearview mirror. Surely design engineers know some drivers wear bifocals and can’t see or read buttons over their head.

I restarted the engine and started flipping and pressing and I was sometimes surprised what happened like the house garage door opened and slammed shut. The headlights and turn signals were easy to figure out, but it took several minutes to learn the workings of the windshield wipers. Suddenly, the seat of my pants started burning and I knew I had turned the seat heater on super-hot, but which of the dozens of buttons had turned it on? Frantically, I hastily retraced my route of pressing buttons, hitting each one again, but my seat was getting hotter so I knew I had failed to turn off the bun warmer. My only option to prevent third-degree burns was to open the door and exit, but the door was locked. OK, which darn button unlocks the door. Just before panic set-in I got the door unlocked and I jumped out to cool freedom.

I really needed a two semester course on the operation of that Olds van, but after about 20 minutes I felt confident enough to drive slowly down the street. The tailgate wiper was flopping, the speedometer showed I was driving 50 kph and the outside temperature was 8 degrees C, but I did not care. I was finally rolling down the road and I knew how to apply the brakes, unlock the door and jump out in case that bun burner came back on.