Quick Shifts

Each week I bring you the top stories in the auto industry along with my commentary or sometimes amusing thoughts about the craziness that goes on in the world of cars.   

Stories you’ll find today:

• You Can’t Hide From the Trash Cam
• 0-to-Felony Time Two Minutes: Florida Man Makes Legal History
• Dude, Where’s My Unleaded?
• Buried Alive: 1975 Chevy Vega Unearthed

You Can’t Hide From the Trash Cam.  In the latest twist of AI meets TMI, your garbage is now under digital surveillance as cities roll out trash trucks equipped with cameras and real-time object recognition to grade your recycling game, with the system scanning your bins curbside, spotting that rogue pizza box or forbidden grocery bag, snapping a photo, tagging your address, and later mailing you a postcard that essentially says “try harder.” Turning trash day into judgment day as the garbage truck quietly becomes a tattletale on wheels that reports back to the recycling authorities when your yogurt cup still has yogurt in it. While some towns like Centerville, Ohio say it’s all about reducing contamination and upping recycling rates, others can’t help but notice the creepy factor of having your refuse photographed and filed like evidence in a low-stakes eco-crime drama. But that’s not stopping municipalities or tech firms who are eager to install more truck-mounted surveillance that not only flags the trashy behavior but also maps it with GPS so your banana peel misfire gets marked like a neighborhood scarlet letter. This is prompting privacy advocates to ask uncomfortable questions about whether your tossed bank statements or expired prescriptions could end up in an unintended photo album, but proponents argue that this kind of data-driven scolding is exactly what residents need to stop treating recycling like a wishful thinking bin and start playing by the rules. With some cities already seeing contamination rates drop and participation jump, all while AI begins flexing at waste facilities too, using near-infrared sensors and machine learning to sort plastics more accurately than humans ever could, proving once again that no part of your life—even the trash—can escape optimization in the name of progress and efficiency. 

Photo: City of Centerville Public Works.

0-to-Felony Time Two Minutes: Florida Man Makes Legal History.  It took all of two minutes for Florida’s shiny new Super Speeder law to bag its first trophy. That trophy went to a Florida Man who was clocked at 104 mph in a Buick—yes, a Buick—just outside Orlando on I-4 at 12:03 a.m., because if anyone was going to christen this felony-speeding statute it was going to be a guy who clearly set his cruise control to “why not.” While most folks were still brushing their teeth or crawling into bed, this gentleman was apparently chasing a space-time wormhole in a car best known for making bingo night on time. This is exactly the kind of poetic nonsense this law was made for as troopers sat waiting like fishermen at midnight and sure enough, here comes this beige blur breaking records and laws before most people had finished their midnight snacks. He instantly earned a court date, a potential $500 fine, and maybe even jail time which is quite the prize for a few extra minutes shaved off a late-night drive. While the Florida Highway Patrol insists the law is about safety and deterring repeat offenders who think triple-digit speeds are just a social suggestion, you’ve got to admit there’s something oddly impressive about being the first to pull off a felony-speed stunt in a state famous for creative crimes. If we’re being honest, it would’ve been way cooler if he’d been in a Lambo instead of a land yacht from 2011, but hey—you race with what you’ve got, and in this case that’s a driver who can now proudly say he was the first person in Florida history to earn a felony charge in under 120 seconds flat. This may not be the legacy his parents hoped for, but it’s certainly one for this column.

Dude, Where’s My Unleaded? It was a beautiful day in St. Clairsville, Ohio, the kind of day when you top off the tank, grab a hotdog the size of your forearm from the Sam’s Club café, and think, “Yeah, life’s alright.” For a few unlucky drivers, that life came to a sputtering, knocking, stalling halt because someone apparently thought diesel and unleaded were interchangeable like socks and sandals. Dozens of unsuspecting members rolled up, paid for unleaded, and unknowingly filled their cars with good old-fashioned diesel, causing everything from check-engine lights to the kind of coughing and wheezing that’d make a 1992 lawnmower blush. As engines gave up the ghost and tow trucks were summoned like the cavalry, the story spread faster than diesel through a fuel system, with social media lighting up with messages like “Why does my Corolla sound like a tractor?” and “Sam’s Club owes me a new car AND a churro.” While mechanics across town developed a twitch from telling the same thing over and over: “No, sir, you can't just top it off with Red Bull and hope for the best,” As the diesel debacle unraveled, Sam’s Club confirmed that yes, a third-party fuel supplier did indeed do the automotive equivalent of mixing up shampoo and Gorilla Glue, and they were very sorry, now please fill out this 17-page reimbursement form. Meanwhile poor Dave in the Kia Soul was left wondering if the “Soul” in his car’s name now referred to its afterlife, and while most cars could be salvaged with a few hundred bucks in fuel system flushes and maybe the emotional support of a local priest, the story served as a smelly, smoky reminder that just because a pump handle fits doesn’t mean it belongs. 

Buried Alive: 1975 Chevy Vega Unearthed.  It was the Fourth of July and while most people were lighting fireworks, Nebraska cracked open a time capsule the size of a mobile home and summoned forth from the mulch of America’s Bicentennial dreams a brand-new, never-driven 1975 Chevy Vega. I suspect the Vega immediately filed a complaint with HR for being woken up after 50 years of peaceful slumber under a tarp next to some Jimmy Carter memorabilia and a leisure suit that still smells like Brut cologne. Yes, this automotive Rip Van Winkle emerged blinking into the 21st century like “who’s president—still Nixon?”, wearing its original window sticker and the kind of hope only GM could bottle in a four-cylinder buzzbox that famously melted in the rain, yet somehow this one survived because it was lovingly buried in a vault. The town clearly didn’t hate it enough to leave it on the street, but also didn’t love it enough to actually drive it, and now, after a quick fluid change, a rust stare-down, and a lot of crossed fingers, it’s allegedly being prepped to drive in the town parade, which is kind of like asking a fossilized dinosaur to jog a 5K, because this thing was under dirt when Apple was still just a fruit. Yet here we are in 2025 watching Sally the Time Capsule Vega try to crank over with a starter motor that sounds like a lawnmower having an anxiety attack, while boomers cry and Gen Z tries to figure out where the USB port is. Somewhere in the cosmos Ralph Nader’s ghost (he’s not dead but still spooky) sighs deeply as another deathtrap rises, and if this relic makes it through the parade without stalling or bursting into patriotic flames, it will officially be the only Vega in history to last 50 years and still have fewer miles than a rental bike.