My Wife’s Brakes Cause Whiplash

A Rant On Brake Sensitivity (Messed-Up But Managing #4)

There are two types of brakes in this world: the ones in my Jeep and the ones in my wife’s Honda that function like a medieval torture device. Seriously, I don’t know what kind of sorcery is at work under all the machinery there, but every time I drive her car, I spend the first ten minutes slamming my forehead into the steering wheel like I’m trying to break into Fort Knox with my face.

It’s not a new vs. old thing either. Also, it’s not a brand thing. It’s just her car. My Jeep? Smooth. Predictable. Normal. You press the pedal, the car slows down. Cause and effect. Physics in harmony. How it should work! But her car? You just think about stopping, and it hurls you toward the windshield like you angered the vehicle gods. My Jeep and her Honda are like yin and yang—good and evil.

Yesterday, I made the mistake of driving it again. Yes, it’s better on gas. Yes, the a/c is better. But the brakes? I had forgotten. I had forgotten what they do to me. I barely touched the brakes at a stoplight, and the entire car came to a screeching biblical halt. It was the kind of stop where you feel the seat belts tightening as if in slow motion, where people in the car with you instinctively brace for impact, where the driver throws their right arm across the passenger’s chest thinking it’s going to actually prevent something.

My neck still hurts, by the way. I have a kink in the left side of my neck right now as I type. I don’t know how my wife does it. Either she has the most delicate foot pressure known to man, or her car just likes her better. It’s like it whispers affirmations to her while she drives: “You’re doing great, sweetie.” But the second I slide into the driver’s seat, it’s all: “Prepare to die, intruder!”

I don’t understand why all brakes can’t just be the same. How have we advanced as a civilization to the point where we can unlock our phones with our faces, Elon can send out a rocket and catch it on landing, but we can’t standardize brake sensitivity? I am the average driver; I shouldn’t have to learn the nuances of different braking systems like I’m training for Formula One.

In my Jeep, I can stop on my own terms. A gentle slowdown, a controlled approach. But in my wife’s car, I never know what’s going to happen. Will we stop? Or, will we launch into space through the sunroof? It’s a mystery every time.

I swear, even though I’ve been driving for 2+ decades, if I had to take my driving test in her car, I would fail immediately. The instructor would get one emergency stop and say, “Sir, do you realize you just sent my pancreas into the back seat?” He’d shake his head, write FAIL, then search Google for chiropractors.

There’s a conspiracy here. I know there is. It’s like missing socks in the wash. Like why all the Tupperware lids disappear but the containers never do. Some things in life just don’t add up. And brake sensitivity is one of those things.