The Joplin Globe, Joplin, MO

Local News

June 18, 2011

Mike Pound: Car quest can’t match car mess

I had to drive my wife’s car to work the other day.

It was a long drive.

When I was younger — and poorer — I drove some awful cars. Sometimes the cars I drove were awful when I bought them and sometimes the cars became awful while I drove them. When I was in college, I drove a 1967 Chevy Impala with a glove compartment that had to be duct taped to keep it from falling open and smacking whoever was dumb enough to ride in my car with me.

That probably was the best thing about that car. At least the duct tape worked.

The rest of the car? Not so much.

When you drive a crummy car, the urge to keep it clean is not quite so great. Why clean a car that is clearly awful? It would be like me combing my hair. I mean, I could do that but why bother?

But, as I got older, and was not quite so poor, I began to purchase cars that weren’t so awful and I made a conscious decision to try and keep them from sinking into awfulness. At first, keeping my car clean was sort of a hobby, a way to keep busy, but eventually, keeping my car clean became a quest. Not an obsession. A goal. Something that I aspired to do.

That desire to keep my car from awfulness got stronger when I purchased my newest car. I love the car I drive now. It’s big. It’s clean and most importantly it has satellite radio so I can listen to Jimmy Buffett’s radio station. As an added plus, I can also listen to St. Louis Cardinals baseball in the car no matter where I am.

Because I love my car, I work extra hard to keep it from becoming awful, and, as a result, the car is mostly spotless.

My wife, though, is not particular with her car. To my wife, a car is a closet that moves. On any given day you will find in my wife’s car, clothes, paperwork, furniture, plumbing fixtures (don’t ask), hair spray, makeup, wine bottles (don’t ask), toys, lamps, light bulbs, plants, empty cardboard boxes, full cardboard boxes, cans of baked beans (don’t ask) and three lint rollers.

On Emma’s last day of school, my wife told Emma she would drive her and three of her friends from Carthage to Joplin so they could go to a movie. Emma was at first thrilled with that news and then horrified. When I saw the panicked look on Emma’s face, I said: “Don’t worry. I’ll drive your mom’s car to work and your mom can use my car to take you to the movies.”

I can now do no wrong in Emma’s eyes. Well, at least for a week.

The downside to Emma and her friends riding to Joplin in my car was that I was going have to drive my wife’s car. As a gesture of goodwill, my wife told me that she would “clean” her car before I had to drive it to work.

When my wife says she is going to “clean” her car, what she means is she will clear a space for the driver to sit.

On the morning I was to drive my wife’s car to work, I grabbed my keys and started to head outside when my wife stopped me.

“Hey, I tried, but my car still smells like jalapenos,” my wife said.

“I see,” I said, even though I clearly did not see why my wife’s car smelled like jalapenos.

When I got into my wife’s car, I sat in the driver’s seat for a second and thought: “This isn’t so bad.”

Then I opened my eyes.

It was bad. Not gross, leftover food bad. But it was bad. I swear, during the entire drive from Carthage to Joplin something was moving in the car. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the fact that it managed to survive in my wife’s car told me I didn’t want to know.

When I got to Joplin, I parked my wife’s car and posted a sign that said: “Keys in ignition. Steal me.”

Nobody did. I guess even car thieves have standards.

Later, when I got home, I told my wife that I knew what her car needed.

“What?” she said.

“Duct tape,” I said.

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