Then came “junior high,” when the heat and air conditioning stopped working — conveniently only during heat waves and coldest nights of the year.

And then, of course, the teenage years arrived. My car decided the horn was no longer necessary and stopped working. We discovered that if you asked nicely and turned the wheel to ten o’clock, it did work! The challenge was when we needed to turn right or didn’t want to crash into the left lane while using the horn. This shtick is especially fun since we live in Israel, where the horn is literally choosing life as we navigate the Jerusalem streets and her drivers. We planned on fixing this little blip when the car called my bluff one innocent and unsuspecting afternoon.

It was 1:30 p.m., not only smack in the middle of my residential neighborhood, but also smack in the middle of the day when the streets are filled with kids coming home from school, moms pushing strollers after picking up their kids from gan, men coming home from kollel for lunch.

It was at this time, at this place, that my horn decided to work.

BEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

I thought someone was honking at me.

I pulled over to ask the driver behind me what was wrong.

Was my trunk open?

Did I have a flat tire? Had my snood fallen off without me realizing it? Was my skirt hanging out the door? Did I take their child home by mistake?

Why would he beep at me like that?

Well, the other driver yelled, “WHAT?! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!”

That’s when I realized that the beeping was coming from my car. Was my hand on the horn? Nope. Did the horn work one hour ago when a car pulled out and almost hit me? No.

I found the situation hysterical. But you know who did not find this funny? About every single person I passed.

I stopped at a crosswalk, smiling, to let the gorgeous kinderlach waiting there cross safely, but my car’s insistent BEEEEEEEPING sent mixed messages.

I let a car go in front of me, as I do (Canadian here), but the BEEP BEEP sounds coming out of my car made it seem like they’d done something wrong, and I could literally feel them getting flustered.

All I did could do was show people my hands so they would realize I wasn’t deliberately beeping at them! After all, when a child throws a tantrum, all we can do is ignore it.

I drove home as quickly as I could, parked, and turned off the car, waiting for the sweet relief of silence.

BEEEEEEEEP. BEEEEEP. BEEP. BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

The car was off.

The lights were off.

I was out of the vehicle.

The doors were locked, yet the horn was still beeping.

Neighbors came outside to see all the ruckus, finding me frantically using my key fob to lock and unlock the car, hoping it would somehow get the message that it should stop! We tried to call Chaverim, but they thought we were playing a prank on them, so they hung up. When we called again, they told us this was above their pay grade and we would need to take it to a mechanic.

And then, after ten minutes of sharing its rage, the horn stopped.

Luckily, the car got bored of that stunt and moved on to have fun with the radio instead. Turning the steering wheel to the right would change the radio channel, while turning it to the left would raise the volume. The car would also connect to Bluetooth on its own and call the last number on my phone.

This is why, one day, as I turned into Ramat Shlomo early in the morning to drop my son off at cheder, my car chose that moment to blast an Arabic radio station at full volume, a female singer belting her heart out for all to hear.

So if you happen to see some boys pushing a car into a parking spot on a hill while the mom is scooting over to the driver’s seat via the passenger seat with an Arab radio station on full blast, and then hear her yelling, “No, I didn’t call you, it was my car. Yes, my car. By itself,” just wave.

My hands will probably be up in defeat so you’ll think I’m waving back.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 932)