When Airbags Go Bad

If anyone happened to see a tan Pontiac Montana minivan driving down the road all by itself recently, that was me. Actually, I was behind the wheel but you just couldn't see me because I was driving with my seat pushed as far back in the reclining position as far as it would go.

It all started last week when my husband told me that the airbag light had come on in his van and stayed on.

"We'll have to take it in," he said, knowing full well that "we" wouldn't be doing anything of the sort, but that "we" translated into "you," which meant "I" would be taking it in.

The next morning he handed me the keys to his minivan, climbed into my car, and just before pulling out of the driveway said, "Yeah, a friend of mine said it's a good thing we're taking it right in because that bag could go off at any time. Bye hon."

Well, gee, did that friend happen to have any idea as to the probability of that happening while "we" are driving down the freeway at 65 miles per hour en route to the dealership? After pondering for a moment, there was only one scenario I could envision when an airbag deploying unexpectedly would probably not get you killed, and that was a head-on collision. Because, the way I saw it, if the airbag deployed at any other time while you were driving, it would more than likely scare you so bad it would cause you to lose control, sending you careening into oncoming traffic, causing a head-on collision which, of course, would kill you because you'd just depleted your single-use airbag two seconds earlier.

"We" were not looking forward to the drive to the dealership. Transporting plutonium seemed like a safer bet.

Luckily the dealership was located just across town. I could take the side streets at 25 mph and if the airbag blew unexpectedly it would likely only send me propelling into someone's front yard where I would finish out my heart attack and die.

The appointed hour came. I gingerly turned on the ignition, leaning as far back from the steering wheel as my neck would let me. The airbag light was still on. If I had owned a pair of Depends I would have been wearing them. I reclined the seat back to what is probably called the "doesn't-go-any-farther-back" position. I couldn't see the road, but I was safely out of reach of the airbag. I was also out of reach of the gas pedal.

After some minor readjustments "we" were on our way, sailing down my street at 3 miles per hour. I was prepared to pilot this unstable vessel the full mile and a half to the dealership.

Finally, I arrived at the dealership, sweating profusely, hyperventilating, and with a bad kink in my neck. "We" made it.

I breathlessly explained the problem to the repairman, who nodded wisely, then told me he would not be able to repair the car until the following week.

The following week?!

Nonetheless, I trusted the repairman. I knew he would have the answer as to why the airbag light was on, and would tell me that my husband's friend was a bag of wind and not to worry about driving the car back home. I knew he would say all the right things to dispel all of my fears and I would feel silly for driving all the way here lying in a prone position. So I chuckled and nonchalantly asked him if it was safe to drive the car with the airbag light on like that.

He looked at me with his kind, understanding mechanic eyes and quipped, "Legally, I can't tell you."

To the average person, that remark might have meant, "Legally, I can't tell you." But to a person who just drove a mile and a half with a live bomb ticking inside her steering wheel it roughly translated to, "The last time I told someone the airbag wouldn't go off it deployed right after they drove out of the parking lot which gave the driver a heart attack and he lost control, hit a couple of gas pumps at a gas station and blew up the entire city."

Yep, I was willing to bet that's exactly what he meant.

"I'll wait for it," I said.