Last year about this time I wrote a column about how I, much to my chagrin, I had become a car slob. I mentioned at that time that this had occurred due to two primary reasons. I laid the blame squarely at my young daughter’s feet and at the dictates of my job, which keeps me on the go. I vowed at that time that I would make every effort to improve things and make both my vehicles, the interiors of which, even Emily Post could be proud of.
After a year of work on this, I want to give a report of my progress.
I have failed miserably. If anything, my cars have a tendency to look less like modes of transportation and more like tornado sites.
My job keeps me pretty busy and I often find I have to eat on the run, so I suspect I could still lay my car slobbishness on this, but I won’t. And my daughter Salina, who one year ago was in the habit of tossing Cheerios all about the interior, still is working at perfecting that art and has even moved on to larger items, such as cookies and Cheetos.
At first, I thought all that orange dust on my windshield was pine pollen, until I discovered it was on the inside.
Let’s start with the outside of my car. Although I try to wash my car every couple of weeks, the recent spate of rain has made that a moot point. No need to wash my ride if it is just going to get splattered with mud as soon as I get it clean. Unlike Jeff Gordon’s car in that TV commercial, my Sable doesn’t just shake off the filth like a wet dog.
Another factor befouling the exterior of my car is the frequent gifts left by passing birds.
Needless to say, I vowed to clean up my messy car, just as I did a year ago. I began by running it through one of Ardmore’s local car washes and then went over to the high school to take a photograph of several students. When I returned to the parking lot, I noticed a couple of birds had spotted my clean roof and windshield and left a business card on each.
Later in the day I removed all the papers, Cheetos and other paraphernalia from the back seat. As I did, I recalled various car slobs that I have known over the years and there were many. One name, however, stands out far and above all the rest.
Frankie Orbit.
Frankie was a buddy of mine when I was in college. He owned a beautiful, late-model Monte Carlo with all the goodies. The problem was, once he drove the car out of the dealership, I don’t think he ever washed it or cleaned it out.
I have the vivid memory of calling Frankie to pick me up one day because my car was in the shop and I needed a ride to class. He showed up with his girlfriend in tow, so I was forced to take a seat in the back. Just climbing in back there was wrought with unheard of dangers. Entering the backseat, I thought I was on safari.
I kicked the mountain of Burger King bags out of the way (Frankie was fond of Whoppers), climbed across two broken golf putters, pushed aside countless half-eaten Twinkies and, after stepping on a melted Snickers, found a place to sit next to a pile of Ding Dong wrappers.
I couldn’t find a suitable place to put my feet because of the broken Styrofoam cooler that lay in three pieces on the floorboard. The contents of the cooler, many by now unidentifiable, had long ago spilled onto the carpet. An empty cellophane ice bag and about 12 empty cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon were easy to identify. One item was more difficult to label. It looked suspiciously like the remains of a KFC hushpuppy but I couldn’t be sure without lab tests.
It would be impossible to tell how long many of the items had been in Frankie’s car without carbon dating.
Neatness and attention to detail were not among Frankie’s assets. What is more alarming is the fact that, after dropping out of school, Frankie later went on to be a commercial pilot. Keep this in mind should you board an airliner and see a Ding Dong wrapper sticking out from underneath the cockpit door.
After reflecting on Frankie, just as I did last year, I have once again made a decision to do my best to keep my car at least in a reasonable state of neatness.
All in all, I must admit I am doing better. The green crayon, left by my daughter on the back seat last August, has been mostly removed, at least the part that hasn’t bonded into the fabric. I even have plans to vacuum all the dead lady bugs off the back deck, if, of course, time permits.
Now keep in mind I am speaking of my older car here. My newer car is spotless. Well, almost, if you don’t count the dirty Crimson Tide tag on the front.
I don’t intend to be a fanatic. I don’t think I am a fanatic about anything except maybe baseball and my adorable wife. I will, however do my best. Now if I can just get Salina to cooperate.