At some point, the common motor journalist has the feeling that he has written everything off. If he drives in a formidable Toyota Land Cruiser or the cuddly Hyundai inster and is almost driven into the madness on board whether the non -breaking Bimmelei on board, he thinks that clever legislators have given their thoughts with the woman of the Leyen and engineers, that must be correct. Then we climb into the friend’s 5 Series BMW, which praises his brand new company car over the green clover, processing, appearance, driving behavior, everything much finer than the previous, also not well -tongued vehicle. The BMW, one of its brains, hits the brake. The snout is still fifteen centimeters in the front. The driver pushes the reverse gear in, but it is already due. The BMW does not touch. Door open, door to, not just lean on. Still nothing. Hand brake, step on the gas, nothing. Laying the belt again, it does not stir from the point, the temperature of the driver rises slightly, and one is moving away, with some diplomatic skill, it is possible to avoid an explosion. Behind the BMW are still fifty centimeters, a passenger stands on the edge, nothing. On the bumper and the sensors slumbering there waving a few tufts of grass. Get the lawn mower, drain, flare up, step up? The track warning is swinging on the way home. And bend. “I want,” gries the driver, “no car that considers himself smarter than me”. Siri or something asks on the screen: “Do you want to know the remaining range?” He doesn’t want to, he is at home in five kilometers. And escape. Then we thought, we write it down again.
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