Gray Sedan
I’m not very good at car makes and models. I actually worked at an online car seller for 5 years or more—created car ads, fixed up car websites. I did learn a bit then, but none of that mattered enough to make it stick after I left.
The fact that I have tended to own cars with a little extra visual oomph—like my current Mini, and a PT Cruiser in the past—is probably for the same reason. The Mini is cute, a little lumpy, kind of friendly, got those classic round headlights. No guessing. No skimming for telltale details (let’s not get into model and year). But one sedan from another sedan? I have no idea.
And a gray sedan…?
Even though some of my dearest friends own a gray sedan, I don’t understand why a gray sedan exists. Why would somebody create a car that expressionless and then make it gray?
Maybe your sole priority for selecting a car is that you need nothing more than to get somewhere, or you’re just happy to have a working car, or you prefer the cloak of anonymity.
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But this quandary is my excuse for having preconceived, highly generalized notions (I’m so, so sorry, dear friends with gray sedans) about the drivers and passengers of a gray sedan. If its finish is dull (which must happen within a week or two after purchasing a “silver” car), they are so pegged. And if it’s dented, my notions intensify, expressed in drive-by judgments like:
- “Don’t get too close.”
- “What don’t they want me to know?”
- “La la la…” not acknowledging its existence
- “That’s just until they get a real car.”
- Briefly imagining smells
- “Inherited from a dead relative?”
. .
Last Saturday morning I headed out early for weekend errands and discovered that someone had parked their gray sedan in front of my house, blocking part of my driveway. The gray sedan phenomenon has nearly driven me to poetry many times over the last few years, but this was the car that finally got me typing. Except not poetry.
It was easy enough to get out, but not so easy to get back in because of the way the driveway curves. It stayed parked there all Saturday and part of Sunday. I didn’t want to get it towed, because that’s not the kind of thing I believe one does to a neighbor. Still, I was getting more and more irritated as the second day wore on.
After sending out a few texts on Sunday afternoon, I found out it belonged to the dad of a neighbor that I actually know and like. She replied, asking if it was a Subaru. I had no idea (see above) and promised to go look closely. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. She texted her dad (she was at work) and he went out to move it, very apologetic and polite — he’d been sure he left me enough room. When I chatted with him for a minute, I mentioned I hadn’t known whose car it was. He was surprised.
“Why didn’t you recognize my car?”
