Laughing at myself (yet again)
It’s probably time to call the looney bin patrol. I think I’ve gone over the edge.
My commute, as much as I love it for the fact that it gets me to work, wears on me by the time Thursday or Friday roll around. And the darn traffic, I could live without it.
Stuck in traffic, I talked to my car. I voiced out my concerns about the economy, the wars, my money, personal safety, work, and many other things that I myself don’t even remember.
In my psyche (I hope there only), the car began to talk back. It told me about the rough and hot roads, the traffic, fuel prices, and the sometimes rough driving from its master. Now that woke me up.
I realized right then and there that if the car were a black box, it would’ve recorded so many emotions, events, and a host of other things. We may not notice it but with the time we spend in our cars, it’s not impossible that we’ve done all sorts of things there. Some are sane and normal, while others may be too graphic to be written here.
This perspective gives us a new appreciation for our cars. They are the uncomplaining witnesses to our daily experiences. Wouldn’t it be nice to see it always shiny and ready to take you wherever you direct the steering wheel to? Isn’t it nice to know that your vehicle is functioning well and ready for anything?
The car is more than a machine. It’s alive. It has demands, but it gives back in ways that make us earn, learn, or just see people and places dear to us. Its value cannot be computed in simple terms. While sales people might put a price tag on it, the special connection we have with our cars prevents us from boxing it into particular values. Simply put, there’s just something about the car that makes its owner view it as priceless.
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