When Your Key Fob Dies (Exercises In Futility)

I now get into my car using a crowbar. Okay, I’m exaggerating, but it sure as hell feels like it.


A few days ago my key fob died. I know, at best my complaining makes me a whiner. At worst a narcissistic elitist. But really, this is a pain in the ass. For those of you who scoff, I ask, do you search for the remote for days on end before you turn the television on at the set? Exactly.

When the key fob stopped working, (and by the way, where did the word“fob” come from?  I feel dirty even saying it.) I put all of my mechanical and electrical knowledge into high gear. That is to say, I pressed the buttons really hard. This is as foolish as turning the knob on a lamp really quickly when the bulb is burned out in hopes that somehow you can conjure the thing to work.

This wouldn’t be more than a minor inconvenience if you could use a key somewhat effectively to access your car. But you can’t. Car companies have reaped millions in savings by removing all but the driver’s side key mechanisms. As a result, regardless of what door you want to open, you have to first open the driver’s side, where the sole remaining keyhole exists.

The end result is that you find yourself opening and closing doors endlessly just to get a gym bag out of the cargo area. Do you leave the driver’s door open when you go to the back? Do you close it? Shit, I locked the doors. Open the door again. What did I want? Should I just crawl over the seats to the back? Maybe I should just forget about even going to gym!

I did try the obvious, changing the battery. This didn’t work and marked the exhaustion of my expertise. Unless there is a switch that is in the off position and should be “on” I am pretty useless. (The only other method I know of to repair things is to unplug something and plug it back in, hopeful that the tech fairy can work his magic. Oddly, this is an amazingly effective technique.)

Just so happens, I have to take my car in for service next week. The front end makes frightening sounds when disturbed by the slightest deviation in the roadway – since I live in Pennsylvania, this happens every ten feet or so. In the mean time, I have moved my seat as far back as possible and will keep everything on my lap.