Today was get-the-emissions-tests-done day. My car and my daughter's are both listed with my name first on the registration; my husband's and my son's are listed with his first. That way we don't have to pay for all the registrations and emissions tests at one time. I made the mistake of offering to get the emissions done for the daughter since she is on her own timetable. I am not sure how to describe my reaction when I opened the door of her car to get in. It was filthy. I mean, yuck. She's not a tidy person by nature, so I'm not sure what I was expecting, but...yuck.
This led me to wonder how people treat their cars differently. Mine is clean, no extraneous "stuff" at all has taken up residence since I graduated from the mini-van. I drove that car until it died. I would be driving it still if the transmission hadn't vacated the premises, metaphorically, I mean. When the kids were younger I kept a lot of "just in case" items. Food, water, toys, pre-electronic entertainment, wipes. I had containers to control the spread o' stuff. Cute netted bags hanging from the headrests, trash containers, front and back. I can't tolerate using the floorboard as a trash bin. If my father saw my daughter's car, he would shake his head and walk away. As it is, he's probably rolling over in his grave with embarrassment. "Not MY granddaughter!" I imagine him booming.
My father was raised in Cleveland by my grandfather who sold used cars for a living. Living in Ohio mid-century cemented the automobile as a status symbol and work of art in Dad's mind. His series of vehicles was absolutely immaculate. Every Sunday, he washed and waxed them, treated the tires with some kind of spray to make them shiny, cleaned the interior, even though it was already clean. His vehicle of choice varied with his salary. As he was able to afford a "better" car, he would trade up. I think his favorite was the 98 Olds, but he also loved my mother's Gold Cutlass Supreme (2nd generation, for you car enthusiasts) soft-top convertible. It was used once in a parade, and they were able to purchase it as a used car as a result, but it was still new. It had a heck of an engine and drank gas like water. My mother held onto that car for years, even after it needed expensive repairs. She had planned to give it to my brother, but when he packed up and moved to Colorado without warning, she decided that he didn't need the car in the Rocky Mountains and sold it.
She, too, is oddly obsessive about her cars. She frets when a bird finds her hood a suitable target, washing it as soon as she is able to get to water. There is not a speck of anything on the carpet or seats, with the exception of (roll your eyes here) her dog's hair. Teacup Malteses have beautiful silken hair, but she keeps her dog trimmed in a puppy cut, so the strands are minimal.
My husband's car is packed full with everything he might need in the apocalypse. I'm not kidding. See for yourself:
This led me to wonder how people treat their cars differently. Mine is clean, no extraneous "stuff" at all has taken up residence since I graduated from the mini-van. I drove that car until it died. I would be driving it still if the transmission hadn't vacated the premises, metaphorically, I mean. When the kids were younger I kept a lot of "just in case" items. Food, water, toys, pre-electronic entertainment, wipes. I had containers to control the spread o' stuff. Cute netted bags hanging from the headrests, trash containers, front and back. I can't tolerate using the floorboard as a trash bin. If my father saw my daughter's car, he would shake his head and walk away. As it is, he's probably rolling over in his grave with embarrassment. "Not MY granddaughter!" I imagine him booming.
My father was raised in Cleveland by my grandfather who sold used cars for a living. Living in Ohio mid-century cemented the automobile as a status symbol and work of art in Dad's mind. His series of vehicles was absolutely immaculate. Every Sunday, he washed and waxed them, treated the tires with some kind of spray to make them shiny, cleaned the interior, even though it was already clean. His vehicle of choice varied with his salary. As he was able to afford a "better" car, he would trade up. I think his favorite was the 98 Olds, but he also loved my mother's Gold Cutlass Supreme (2nd generation, for you car enthusiasts) soft-top convertible. It was used once in a parade, and they were able to purchase it as a used car as a result, but it was still new. It had a heck of an engine and drank gas like water. My mother held onto that car for years, even after it needed expensive repairs. She had planned to give it to my brother, but when he packed up and moved to Colorado without warning, she decided that he didn't need the car in the Rocky Mountains and sold it.
She, too, is oddly obsessive about her cars. She frets when a bird finds her hood a suitable target, washing it as soon as she is able to get to water. There is not a speck of anything on the carpet or seats, with the exception of (roll your eyes here) her dog's hair. Teacup Malteses have beautiful silken hair, but she keeps her dog trimmed in a puppy cut, so the strands are minimal.
My husband's car is packed full with everything he might need in the apocalypse. I'm not kidding. See for yourself:
You might think some of this is work related. Nope. He works out of the house. Why does he have a hanging rod in the car? I know where you are going with this, but no, he doesn't spend the night in other places. He's at home EVERY NIGHT, unless he travels for work, but that usually requires packing and an airplane. I wonder where he puts his suitcase.
That little green container on the right? It contains all possible connectors you might need - USB, micro, mini. See the case of water in the plastic crate? He still takes a huge plastic cup of ice water with him every time he is in the car. What's with the blanket? WE LIVE IN THE SOUTH!!! Believe it or not, there is more (crap) stuff in the front and back seats. Any time we take his car somewhere, he has to move the ridiculous organizer he keeps on the front passenger seat.
But the car is clean. It is a 13 year old car that is nearly spotless.
So what is it about our personality types that makes us treat our cars differently? I will say that how my son and daughter keep their respective rooms is similar to how they care for their cars. I stopped fighting the "clean your room" battle long ago. We keep the doors closed for my sanity. My mother's house is clean, the bed always made. I don't think my kids will ever value cars the way my father did. They won't make the bed, either. To them, it a car is a necessary evil of living in a city with the world's worst public transportation. As long as it is reliable, they don't care much about it.
I guess I just won't go anywhere with them unless they either get rid of the schmutz or hide it under a drop cloth so I can't see it. We could take my car, but I'd have to check their shoes first.
That little green container on the right? It contains all possible connectors you might need - USB, micro, mini. See the case of water in the plastic crate? He still takes a huge plastic cup of ice water with him every time he is in the car. What's with the blanket? WE LIVE IN THE SOUTH!!! Believe it or not, there is more (crap) stuff in the front and back seats. Any time we take his car somewhere, he has to move the ridiculous organizer he keeps on the front passenger seat.
But the car is clean. It is a 13 year old car that is nearly spotless.
So what is it about our personality types that makes us treat our cars differently? I will say that how my son and daughter keep their respective rooms is similar to how they care for their cars. I stopped fighting the "clean your room" battle long ago. We keep the doors closed for my sanity. My mother's house is clean, the bed always made. I don't think my kids will ever value cars the way my father did. They won't make the bed, either. To them, it a car is a necessary evil of living in a city with the world's worst public transportation. As long as it is reliable, they don't care much about it.
I guess I just won't go anywhere with them unless they either get rid of the schmutz or hide it under a drop cloth so I can't see it. We could take my car, but I'd have to check their shoes first.