From the October 09 Car and Driver goofy useless features and non car counterparts to them, enjoy
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http://mobilelink.caranddriver.com/f...nomics_-column
In a scene from This Is Spinal Tap, Christopher Guest (as Nigel Tufnel) shows Rob Reiner (as Marty DiBergi) his Marshall amp:
Nigel Tufnel: As you can see, the numbers all go to 11. Look, right across the board.
Marty DiBergi: Most amps go up to 10?
NT: Exactly.
MDB: Does that mean it’s louder? Is it any louder?
NT: Well, it’s one louder, isn’t it? It’s not 10. Most blokes, you’re on 10 on your guitar, where can you go from there?
MDB: I don’t know.
NT: Nowhere. Exactly. What we do when we need that extra push over the cliff, know what we do?
MDB: Put it up to 11?
NT: Eleven. Exactly. One louder.
MDB: Why not make 10 louder and make 10 the top number? Make that a little louder.
NT: [Long pause.] These go to 11.
At most gas stations, when you punch in your credit-card info on the pump’s keypad, each number emits a beep. But at a nearby Mobil station, the first digit you enter—and it’s only the first digit—doesn’t beep once. It beeps three times. Know why? Because it can. Because some nitwit thought that three beeps would be three times cooler than one. Because it didn’t cost anything. Because the technology existed.
Modern cars are awash in “It-goes-to-11” ergonomics. No one asked for it. It’s just in your car because—like black mold or a carjacker with herpes—it can be.
For instance, to change the fan speed on an Audi A6, first find, then depress, the always-red-glowing fan button. Now raise your head so you can scrutinize a huge LCD display that looks like a clock, with 12 fan settings. Now look down and refind the cabin temperature control. Turn the dial, left or right, to whatever fan speed you guess might satisfy. Do this very, very quickly or the clock-like thing on the nav screen will disappear and you’ll have to start all over—a little test of your reflexes, ha-ha.
It’s like putting a piece of bread in a complicated dishwasher that automatically transfers the bread to your toaster, a toaster that then requires you to push down a lever causing the bread to lower and become toasted in 60 seconds or so. Audi isn’t alone.
Ergonomic 11: Radio tuning knob nowhere in the vicinity of the digital display that shows you what station you’ve tuned.
Real-world analogy: Toilet flush lever that isn’t on the toilet but is located instead in your neighbor’s den.
Ergonomic 11: Side-view mirrors that automatically point downward every time you select reverse gear.
Real-world analogy: Like having your doctor perform a colonoscopy while examining the soles of your shoes.
Ergonomic 11: Turn signals and shifters that, when directed by the movement of your own hand, instantly return to their original positions.
Real-world analogy: Homeland Security’s color-coded terrorist alerts.
Ergonomic 11: Seatbelt warning so shrill that you can’t drive unbelted to your own mailbox.
Real-world analogy: Ann Coulter.
Ergonomic 11: Instrument clusters that automatically illuminate, thus causing at dawn and dusk a disco-ball strobe effect.
Real-world analogy: Like adding a fourth color to traffic lights, where the fourth now means, “Got no clue, why not take a big dangerous chance?”
Ergonomic 11: Automatic rain-sensing wipers that suddenly erupt in the midst of a carwash and are thus torn off by those wet hangy-downy swinging carpet strips.
Real-world analogy: TV weathermen who report “possible scattered showers” even as lightning and torrential rain have knocked out their broadcasting towers.
Ergonomic 11: Having to press a button on the nav screen in response to scary legal warnings that flash on the nav screen ordering you not to operate the nav screen or you’ll probably die while tapping the nav screen.
Real-world analogy: Prescription-bottle labels that warn, “Danger: Alcohol will intensify the effect of this drug.”
Ergonomic 11: Weight-sensing passenger seat that, when you place your briefcase atop it, sets off incessant warning chimes that can be quelled only by securing your briefcase with a seatbelt.
Real-world analogy: Cramps, ringing in the ears, diarrhea on a first date.
Ergonomic 11: Little LCD bars that increase in number to demonstrate that someone is turning up the radio’s volume.
Real-world analogy: Calling 4-1-1 to determine your spouse’s gender.
Ergonomic 11: Electronic button that opens glove box but isn’t on the glove box.
Real-world analogy: Angry spouse who has hidden the TV’s remote control in her sister’s safety-deposit box in a state not even adjacent to yours.
Ergonomic 11: Mandatory pressing of a button that says “Load,” then waiting for a message that says “Insert disc” before you can play a compact disc.
Real-world analogy: Cop who asks, “You know how fast you were going?”
Ergonomic 11: Having to insert a key or key fob in the ignition, then having to press a button to actually start the car.
Real-world analogy: Demanding that your mail be delivered to a mailbox across the street instead of through the letter slot on your front door.
Ergonomic 11: Radios that automatically raise the volume to combat the increase in wind noise and the increase in tread roar and the increase in your spouse’s complaints about your driving.
Real-world analogy: An erection lasting longer than four hours.
Ergonomic 11: Dual automatic climate-control systems that promise to maintain 65 degrees for the driver and 82 degrees for the passenger.
Real-world analogy: Your check is in the mail.
Ergonomic 11: An “automatic” setting that turns on the headlights only when it’s fully dark but not at fuzzy daybreak, at dull twilight, or in dense fog.
Real-world analogy: Death.