So I restored the oil in the system, but it still didn’t make it come back. I uninstalled the new tires and the paint job, but still no dice.
That’s when I dialed car support. After a few days of call waiting, I got through to a tech who asked me a series of questions: “Did you put the keys in the ignition? Did you turn the key? Is there gas in the tank? Did you press on the gas? How many miles do you have on it?”
“Seriously, I just bought the thing!” I answered. “That’s my problem! I just don’t get the new updates, alright? I can’t even find the code for the childproof locks!
“Do you have your license?” the bored tech slurred. “Did you open the door to get in? Are you sitting down?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Okay, here are a few things that might fix your problem.”
And I listened carefully as I was instructed to take out the engine, dip it in hot sauce, strap it to an electrical contraption resembling the one that gave Frankenstein life, crank it about 390.5 degrees, do a dance, and back-spring away–all while singing “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”
After all that, I still didn’t get my steering wheel back—though there were a few “almost breakthroughs” where I thought I got it back, but it just turned out to be the airbag. I drew the line at human sacrifices and got disconnected when the tech tried to transfer me to the whack-it-with-a-hammer department.
After a week of wrestling with my missing steering wheel dilemma—and a box of hohos and a gallon of chocolate milk later—I read on a forum that the steering wheel might be stashed in the glove compartment under a secret panel—I’m watching some how-to videos right now and ordering a special cat burglar bag so I can get past the lasers, piranhas, and hexes to fix it.
Until then, I’ve figured out that the radio starts the engine and the volume controls the speed. The air-conditioning is the heating and the heating is the passenger eject button.
Don’t even get me started on the updates for my set of cold steel knives