A few years ago, a new CEO came into my company and presented the managers with a piece of software that outlined vital corporate performance data on a single screen. It was incredibly useful; at a glance, it showed everyone why it was absolutely imperative that all of us panic. My first impression of this "executive dashboard" was that it really functioned a lot like a car dashboard. The concept made sense until a co-worker started asking the CEO why our tank was empty of earnings and whether our mileage was high enough to recommend a rotation of our consultants.

The real trouble started when my division president decided to customize the tool. Unlike the CEO, he had trouble separating the pistons from the cylinders, so the first iteration of his dashboard was the size of a virtual conference room. It included everything the guy could think of to measure. People who wanted to actually see how our division was doing were quickly numbed into a stupor sorting through our "seasonal bad debt to receivables ratio," "sales leads per impression per dollar per channel per message," and "level of wear and tear on the parking brake." It took a few near misses with a telephone pole before he realized we needed to have at least as much time for steering as for looking at the gauges.

The funny thing is that while I've seen business dashboards become simpler, car dashboards seem to be moving in the other direction. I bought a new car two months ago, and I have yet to figure out its instrument cluster. It has 28 different dials, lights, and readouts, some of which the manufacturer didn't have space to explain in the 4,000-page owners manual. One looks like a cone topped with the international symbol for wafting odor. Another has an icon of a car skidding. This, the manual tells me, is my VDC warning light. What VDC is, I don't know. My guess is "very dangerous curves." I'm fairly certain that my car has the same degree of instrumentation as an F-16.

Still, I think the business-as-auto analogy is apt. For one thing, virtually everyone over the age of 16 (Manhattan residents excepted) knows how to drive a car -- so we understand, for example, that business risks may escalate if we're talking on our cell phone, eating breakfast, and painting our toenails when we should be shifting gears. In fact, almost all behaviors associated with good driving correlate to management actions that increase the odds of profits.

Consultants like to say that using lagging indicators to guide a business is like "driving a car while looking in the rearview mirror." I did once meet a BPM service provider who thought that handicap could be overcome. Concerned, I suppose, about cataracts among our senior leadership, he suggested that looking at where we'd been was better than seeing nothing at all. He went so far as to say he'd become the best driver on his block when his father covered his windshield with cardboard and made him navigate with zero forward vision. This probably cost the father some extensive bodywork, and I think it cost us $2,000 an hour. He made us feel a little better about our executives' potential, but none of us wanted to ride home with him.

Because I like the thought that my company has air bags and anti-lock brakes, I'm continuously working to expand my use of car metaphors to explain business problems. I point out to friends when initiatives they're driving start to veer off course. I announce in every meeting I attend that I want to steer the discussion. I refer to employees who have great enthusiasm as spark plugs. And to those who are just begging to be totaled and sold for scrap, I'll say, "Hey, man, your check engine light is on."

Then my VDC warning begins to flash, and people slowly step away from the vehicle.

Dan Danbom writes humor for a number of publications. His latest book is "Humor Meets Your Workforce: Make Laughter One of Your Organization's Goals."