There are so many colorful synonyms for the word messy…grubby, grimy, disheveled, disordered, chaotic, careless, littered, untidy, unkempt. And sadly, every single one of those could be used to describe the inside of my car. Using all the words at one time with a slight grimace on your face would be a more accurate description.
Try as I might, I cannot, I repeat, CANNOT keep the inside of my car clean. Okay, so maybe I’m not trying all that hard. And maybe the empty cup or wrapper on the floorboard is perfectly fine by me. But give me a week (or really just a few days) and I can take a perfectly spotless car interior – carpets vacuumed in a fluffy pattern of cleanliness and leather seats sparkling with that greasy, conditioning shine – and turn it into a horror show that would leave most car salesmen crying and shaking in the corner.
Blame it on everyday life. I do have two dirty boys and a large, dirty dog. And I’m tired when I pull in the driveway. (Insert whine here.) I’d rather leave the mess there with every intention, I said EVERY intention (my Pinocchio nose just grew a bit) of coming back outside to clean up the mess in an hour or so. It doesn’t happen. Ever. Which leads me to the post.
A messy car can easily be that hidden little secret only those in your inner circle are familiar with. Unless you have school drop-off – that driveway in front of the school where moms in shiny, clean cars slowly pull up to drop off their children each morning. Volunteers and teachers stand on the sidewalk ready to open the car door and help the kids out – a painless job…unless it’s my car.
Here’s the scenario. I drive in the school parking lot, head cowering, remembering with dread the half-eaten sandwich my son left in the side door, and nervously wait my turn. We pull up to the designated spot as the friendly and smiling volunteer walks over to let the boys out. She has no idea what’s waiting. The door is opened, my boys climb out, and with them drag half the contents of the back seat. The volunteer, smile slowly fading, bends over to retrieve the items now littering the school sidewalk and toss them back in the car. I apologize, make some ridiculous excuse and drive off vowing to clean it before tomorrow which, of course, never happens.
It’s humiliating. I’ve even tried timing our drop-off to avoid the scene. For instance, if we pull in the line and are far enough back, the boys can jump out before a volunteer reaches us. Anything that falls out in the process becomes litter. The boys know this routine well. As soon as the car slows, they jump out, slam the door quickly and run. When the volunteer makes it to me, I shrug, mouth the word, “Boys!,” and drive off quickly.
My oldest asked why I was doing this post. “Mom, why do you want everyone to know how grubby your car is?! They’ll think we’re dirty!”) Well, we’re not, just only inside my car. But I have to believe I’m not the only one. There are more of us out there, right?
So I’m taking a stand for all the moms with their dirty cars. It’s okay. You’re not alone. And if you ever need spare change, a roll of toilet paper, empty soda cans, pens, toys, an extra shoe, a banana peel, crushed Pop Tarts, a dehydrated apple core…just flag me down. It’s probably in my car.
(Not super excited by the photo…spring break and a high wind warning made this a speedy shoot! But I guess the process goes with the theme…disorganized!)
Please continue on in the fine art photography blog circle by visiting the talented street photographer
Pamela Joye, Boston Northshore