I believe my car has made me a nicer person. Why? I drive a very cute car, a 2014 VW Beetle convertible, light blue with a beige top. It is like waaaayyyyyy cute. So cute that strangers comment on how much they love my car. In parking lots, at stop lights and even country roads, I hear how cute my car is. “I love your car.” “Your car is adorable.” “I wish I had that car.”
It seems like everyone’s first car was a VW Beetle. Strangers have shared their stories of their first VW. Usually someone a bit older than me, someone who’s heyday may have been around 1968 in San Francisco. Yep, ex-hippies living their retirement in New Jersey LOVE my car. My little bug is a reminder of their young, carefree days listening to the Dead while smoking their doobies.
The security guard at my office’s parking garage loves my cars. Her face explodes with a huge grin upon my 8:00 a.m. arrival. Gotta say, that smile makes for a brighter morning.
My Beetle has a name, which makes it all the more adorable. It’s Georgia, after another, more famous Beatle. My first Beetle was George; it was beige and black and had a more masculine vibe. The powder blue of my current vehicle is a bit more feminine, so it’s Georgia. When Georgia and I speed down the highway — top down, my hair flying, the tunes blasting and I’m singing along— it’s my joy. I think my evident joy combined to the sheer cuteness of my wheels inspires strangers to infer that I am a nice person. I’m not a horrible person, but I’m a little shy and talking is one of my least favorite things to do (hence a blog). But when sweet Georgia elicits squeals of joy and numerous punch-buggy-blues, it brings out my nice, friendly side.
I am, per the Myers-Briggs Scale, an introvert. On a scale of 1 – 30, my introversion scores at a 29.9999. This does not mean I spend my days sequestered away in my bedroom, reading Emily Dickenson and journaling. It means that dealing with people exhausts me. I like people, I just need my time alone. Time alone has been long drives with my sweet Georgia. Driving is the introverts refueling station. Time alone, time to gather my thoughts, time to rev up for the day or cool down when the day is done. When the weather is perfect and the tunes are rocking, I almost dread reaching my destination. Long drives don’t bother me with Georgia by my side.
You can understand why all this attention was a bit disconcerting at first. I had to interrupt my reverie to acknowledge their compliments. There I’d be, singing along loudly with my dear Wilco when some kind Bug fan would express his or her love for my car. I’d sigh, smile and say thanks. But something wonderful happened with each new greeting. I started to enjoy it. I may be an introvert, but I do like attention. And this is positive attention, even better!
Now I keep my eye out for those trippy Bug-lovers. I get a little thrill when a sophisticated business women hauls out and wails on the arm of her executive husband and shouts, “Punch Buggy Blue!!” I’ve embraced my fame as the owner of a cute car. I love the accolades, the fame, the prestige. And I love those warm, sunny days when the road is open, the journey long and the tunes blaring. There’s nothing that Georgie and I can’t conquer together. Even being nice.
The Barb Wire 