Ever wonder what our vehicles would say to one another, or we humans, if they could talk? Many of you are likely shaking your heads “no” and thinking, “Honestly, I’m given more thought to growing hair on a golf ball.”
But as you prepare for the remainder of the week, and for some, the start of another school year, pause a moment with me and consider the possibilities.
Would different makes of cars view each other with the same level of contempt that some of their owners do?
“Hey Ford, is it true they make you out of pig iron?”
“No, because I only notice a swine stench when I’m parked next to Chevys.”
Maybe Fords and Chevys actually have gained a mutual respect for one another by now and reserve their disdain for foreign interlopers.
“Hey import, we drive on the right side of the road over here!”
“In America, we get gas by the gallon, not the liter.”
Imagine all the chatter one could hear on a car lot.
“Where did that nice, new minivan go that was parked over there the other day?”
“Oh, it was sold yesterday while you were out on a test drive. A family with five kids and a dog bought it.”
“Too bad. Its interior will never be clean again.”
The comments made outside a mechanic’s shop might be interesting to eavesdrop on.
“My ‘check engine’ light was on for months. But did my owner pay any attention? No-o-o-o. I showed him good. I quit in the middle lane of a three-lane highway during rush hour. I bet he pays attention the next time I try to tell him something is wrong.”
I raise this subject today because I’ve given considerable thought to what one of my cars might have to say these days.
After one of our two minivans died some months ago, we bought a used Buick Century. Because it had fewer miles and our remaining van developed significant “health” issues, the Buick became our primary vehicle. One of the perks of its status was that it got to take up residence in our basement garage.
It “slept” there each night until June when after our other van died, we broke down and got another newer car. After that purchase the Buick found itself sitting outside on a regular basis. Since that change of parking spots I’ve often found myself wondering what the Buick might be thinking, and saying, if it could.
“Hey! What gives? What did I do wrong? Why am I sleeping outside now? I was here first. Wasn’t I the one who took you on vacation to South Carolina this year without a bit of trouble while your new car stayed home in the garage? And why am I the one stuck with the teen-age driver? Where’s the love?”
A couple of weekends ago I broke down and decided to give both cars a bath. When the two-hour-plus chore was done, the new car went back in the basement while the Buick sat outside.
I could almost hear the Buick remark, “I appreciate being given a bath, but I have to ask: Are you some kind of a moron? Why would you go to so much trouble when I’m still going to be parked beneath a sap-leaking tree that seems to be a gathering point for a majority of the neighborhood’s birds?”
The car’s points, if it could have made them, are valid. The morning after I’d washed the Buick I looked out the window and there was a blob of bird poo strategically located on the middle of its roof.
That led me to consider: What would birds say if they could talk?