My Car

In my opinion, my car is awesome.  It’s a 17-year-old, bright red Civic with peeling paint and a black mirror on the passenger’s side.  It’s got zip.  With my car, it’s possible to accelerate from stop signs and lights in ways which are simply impossible in other vehicles.

It's called CHARACTER.
(It’s called character)

Ask anyone who’s been my passenger.  They’ll tell you.  If they aren’t a fan of roller coasters, they might also follow it up with a warning to never set foot in my car.  Whatever.  Their lives are grey and desolate.

It’s also got some bumper stickers.  One says “Gadzooks” in support of a local radio morning show.  One says “Eve was framed”.  The last one says “My other car is a TARDIS.”

Occasionally people comment on these.  One memorable time a guy in a convertible pulled up beside me at a stop light and asked whether “TARDIS” is a Greek car manufacturer.

But today I realized that I might just have to start paying more attention to what’s going on my rear-view mirror.

I was stopped at a red light.  I glanced at the mirror, and noticed that the people in the red SUV behind me were unusually…animated.  I did a double-take and, yes, the teenager and her mother both had their cell phones out and were taking a picture of something in front of their car.

Something…like my bumper.

The impression was borne out through multiple corner-of-eye glances (because making eye contact with bumper ogleers would be such a faux pas) as they waved their hands, pointed, and laughed at something in the vicinity of the back of my car.

I really hope I made their day.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s