The cry was plaintive, and clearly directed my way. Ugh! I was relaxing in a comfortably furnished waiting room, enjoying some cinnamon coffee cake, and I was prepared to completely ignore the unnecessary outburst.
It happened again. It wasn't a real voice, and it wasn't really saying "Daddy!", but that is how I heard it. I knew who was crying. It was my stupid car, wailing at me via text messages during its first warranty check-up at the…