Mini, love and loathing...

Automobiles are among the objects that often generate feelings very close to the ones we have towards people. Since 2007, my wife drives a mini and loves every moment of her experience with that little car. I can understand it; unlike most car picked on a dealer's lot in America and fraught with compromises, she ordered it like you'd order a custom pizza with all the features she wanted, needed and then some. I love her Mini Cooper too and find it peppy and fun to drive every time she lets me have it. The problem is that I don't love it as unconditionally as she does. My relationship to this British re-incarnation of a classic is a seesaw between love and loathing.

Let me explain; the car computer is quirky, complicated and requires a MIT degree to be able to use it, let alone adjust it. Instruments are dysfunctional, the speedometer is far too “optimistic,” as is shows speeds 10% above reality; I hate that with a passion. The worst is yet to come though. Last week, we brought the Mini to the dealer for a catalytic converter “recall” and for some reasons, the mechanic on duty left some lights on and it drained the battery.

I tried to open the hood, but couldn't figure out how to do it, even though I had to read the manual, but still could not get what they call “bonnet” to open; I was mad and cursing about these devious British designers. BMW's roadside assistance, after telling me that the batteries should be in the trunk (like all other BMW are configured,) finally came to our home garage to show me how to open that damn hood and reload the battery. This made me fell stupid, delayed my skiing outing and in spite of all that, still made me covet this little mischievous auto with driver's envy...