The Automobile ignition key, long a staple of purses, front pockets and key hooks in so many households, has been replaced by the ‘remote,’ a techno-gem that allows one to start the car while still toweling off from the shower, unlock the vehicle with the mere touch of a button and open the hatch by waving one’s foot under the rear bumper. Quoting a wide-eyed Gomer Pyle: “Shazam!”
The downside to such magic is a) the cost of replacement – they’re, like, 400 bucks – and b) how easy they are to lose. These devises, generally about twice the size of a wad of bubblegum found under a third grade student’s desk, are, in general, always encased in black, molded plastic. Not sure why. In one’s pocket or in one’s purse, nobody’s ever going to see the thing so what difference does the color make? It’s not like a chartreuse remote will clash with the lady’s pink chiffon gown or the gent’s tan, suede Hush Puppies.
So why not make remotes some garish color like school bus yellow or pomegranate red or fly-eye green? The argument for is compelling: The damn thing might be easier to see.
Today, as our long-time friends rushed to depart – given the eight hour drive in front of them – one spouse queried of the other, “Do you have your remote?”
Response: “No, you have it.”
“No, I have mine.”
“Well, I don’t have mine.”
“Did you check your computer case?”
“That’s where I always put it, but it isn’t there.”
“How ‘bout your jacket? The black one from last night?”
The jacket in question was retrieved from the behind the front seat, unfolded and squeezed. No remote was found.
“Did you check your pockets? The ones in the pants you wore to dinner?”
“They’re buried in my suitcase.”
The ensuing five or six minutes was consumed with unpacking onto the driveway, groping in dark reaches of the grip, throwing things all a-heap back into the bag and grousing, while spouse rechecked the guest room looking atop dresser and side table, under the bed, as casting redoubtable stink eye toward the host’s adorable little mixed-breed mutt who might reasonably be accused of eating anything found on the floor that was about the size of a large wad of bubblegum.
“No luck.”
“No luck.”
A feature of the vehicle to which the remote belonged is that the car cannot be locked if a key is inside. Quite the innovation! The scientist in me, observing the proceedings, suggested an experiment. “Close everything up and, with the one you’ve got, try to lock the car. If it doesn’t lock, then you’ll know it’s with you somewhere in the car – not actually lost, just not actually found.”
Our anxious friends looked at each other and chorused: “Brilliant!”
In the dim morning light, remaining remote in hand, as my pal’s wife was about to push the driver’s door closed, she spotted a molded black object – about the size of a wad of gum – sitting on the black leatherette console between the seats. Perfectly still. Perfectly camouflaged. Perfectly invisible.
How much more efficient might their departure have been if said remote was the color of any of about 56 of the crayons found in a 64-count box of Crayolas®?
Just a thought, GM. Ford. Subaru. Mazda. VW group. Mecedes AG, Toyota, folks who make the Space Shuttle…
You’re welcome.
© 2026
Church of the Open Road Press
