Well, of course!

A couple weekends ago we changed back to Standard-Time.
I won’t bore with sanctimonious complaining about changing “God’s time.”
Um, the four time-zones, across this great nation, are railroad time.
The railroads were sick of parrying God’s time, that is, time set by sundial.
Sundial time has a nasty habit of being what time it is in that exact location.
Noon in Philadelphia might be 12:30 in New York City, and in Boston it might be 1:20 p.m.
How could the railroads efficiently schedule trains if it was noon in Philadelphia, and 12:10 in Trenton, NJ?
I set back my clocks that are important: my DVR, my programmable thermostat, and my alarm clock-radio.
I have another alarm-clock that resets itself per the satellite. —And of course this ‘pyooter and my cellphone reset automatically.
I set about resetting my kitchen-clocks the next day; my microwave, the stove, and a wall-clock.
I reset my watch per this computer, which is getting satellite time. (Actually it’s getting the NIST time, which the satellite goes by.)
I had one clock left, the one in my car. That went unchanged for weeks. It’s a digital readout, so all I had to do was subtract an hour in my head.
I decided to reset my car-clock.
“Simple,” I thought. I perused the manual: “push clock button.”
Same as previous cars.
I reset my watch, inserted my car-key, and turned on the ignition.
I fingered the clock-button.
Nothing!
Now what? What’s the trick?
I was in the passenger-seat, so I needed to get out to release the parking-brake. That brake being set prompts a car-computer function. I figured that computer-function might make it impossible to set the car-clock.
That wasn’t enough. My car also needed gas, which triggers another computer-function.
I gave up and went to bed. I figured I’d try the next day after buying gas.
Having bought gas, all possible ‘pyooter-functions were voided, but the clock-button still wasn’t doing anything.
Back to the car-dealer to be told I’m stupid, and technically-challenged.
“Sure, I can reset your clock,” a salesman said. “There’s nothing to it!”
He got in, started my car, and pushed the clock-button.
Again, nothing.
But then he turned on the radio and reset my clock.
“Hello,” I shouted. “Do you mean to tell me I hafta have the radio on to reset my clock?
The manual doesn’t say that.”
“Well, of course!” said the guy, a mocking liberal, who daycares my dog while I work-out at the Canandaigua YMCA.
I guess the perception is the average ‘Mer-kin will have the radio permanently on in his car, listening to country-music (“Twang!”), or rap (“BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM-CHICKA-BOOM....”) or talk-radio (“yadda yadda yadda; all Liberals should be lined up and shot!”).
Well, I don’t. I never have my radio on; it’s a distraction.
I guess I’m still driving transit bus.

• “‘Pyooter” is computer.
• I work out in the Canandaigua YMCA Exercise-Gym, appropriately named the “Wellness-Center,” usually three days per week, about two-three hours per visit. (“Canandaigua” [“cannan-DAY-gwuh”] is a small city to the east nearby where I live in Western NY. The city is also within a rural town called “Canandaigua.” The name is Indian, and means “Chosen Spot.” It’s about 14 miles east. —I live in the small rural town of West Bloomfield, southeast of Rochester.)
• For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (RTS) in Rochester, NY, a public employer, the transit-bus operator in Rochester and environs. My stroke October 26th, 1993 ended that. I retired on medical-disability. I recovered fairly well.