We were recently visiting a friend near D.C. I took their dog for a walk in the morning, mainly because I wanted to buy the newspaper.
By the way, this area has one of those laws were dog poop has to be scooped-up. I don’t understand this. As long as the dog poops on a grassy area, what’s the problem? Dog-poop is the ultimate biodegradable. The ground cheers when they see the dog hovering above it! Imagine how it (the ground) feels when the prize is plucked away. Sad. Really sad.
So as we are walking, I came across the car pictured above.
It reminds me of the time when car bumpers looked like what they were: a separate piece of the car. A proud part. A part with a purpose. A part you could depend on.
Remember when you were in traffic and saw a friend in front of you? You ever-so-gently inched up to their car, slightly pumping on the brake so your bumper taps theirs. Your friend is startled, looks in his mirror, sees you waving and . . . waves back, happy to see you.
Imagine that happening today. You tap your friend’s car ahead of you, wave, and now your ex-friend is getting your insurance information to pay for the 900 dollars worth of damage to his bumper.
Remember when you ran out of gas (how could we do that when gas was 35 cents a gallon?) and your friend would push you using his car! Imagine doing that today? The car you pushed would look like an accordion when you reached the gas station.
I remember one time I was driving to work using the family car (a Ford Gran Torino. Red). The front of the parking space had large wooden beams, like railroad ties, forming a protective wall to the bushes. As I pulled up to the parking space, I accidentally stepped on the gas instead of the brake. The car lurched forward, the bumper smashing into the wooden ties. And that was that. No damage. No problem. I don’t think I even told my Dad. Until now.
And let’s not forget how good a place the bumper was for resting your foot as you scrapped the dog poop off your shoes. Those were the days.