The Minivan (Black and) Blues

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

“I’d like an exact replacement down to the color,” I crisply inform a salesman at our favorite car dealership. My beautiful red Chrysler Town and Country minivan had been totaled en route to work the preceding day. I was fine – in sharp contrast to the six-point buck who stepped in front of me on a dark country road at the less-than-sociable hour of 5:15 am. Airbag dust settled around me and radiator fluid pooled on pavement as an excited tow-truck driver (obviously a hunter) asked: “Ma’am – you gonna want that deer?” A shaky reply to the negative sealed his delight as he chained and hoisted both a defunct van and stiffening carcass onto his truck bed. Lucky for him the cop who arrived earlier wanted no part of the deer other than to drag it off the road and ensure I was without injury.  

To say I adored that van with its lovely deep cherry hue and all its bells and whistles is an understatement. Yes, I was indeed that mother of littles who could extoll the virtues of such a staid, yet supremely comfortable method of transport. With two video screens and a dozen wells for coffee, what mom wouldn’t? So imagine my chagrin when that salesman looked me in the eye and reported: “Sorry – I can’t deliver on your request – Chrysler doesn’t make the Town and Country anymore.” 

I was in shock, disbelief, and downright angry. How could they stop making this luxurious – not to mention popular – boat? It was sheer blasphemy. The sales guy followed quickly with: “But I can get you into a Dodge Grand Caravan – we have some on the lot.”

I felt – and my look confirmed – the Caravan lacked the swoopy swank of the Town and Country. I was then led hastily to a sparkling new Chrysler Pacifica – Chrysler’s stylishly engineered effort to keep lovers of their retired minivan forever in the fold. But being petite, I struggled to adequately see out of newfangled rear windows despite all creative manner of zillion-way seat adjustment. Frowning and somewhat perplexed by my lack of enthusiasm, the salesman again suggested the Dodge. I reluctantly followed him outside the showroom. 

He roared up in a special-ops-worthy, jet-black, Grand Caravan box. It was square (not unlike me) and completely black – interior, exterior, and all trim except for a minuscule red accent on the seats. Admittedly, it did have some nice accoutrements like its red predecessor. But it was so…..black. I politely asked how one would find a dropped black key fob or black handbag, or glove or anything black on these black upholstered seats. And would other drivers even discern me in the dark? 

Desperately wanting a sale, he eagerly reminded me that there were indeed several interior and exterior lights to choose from. I rolled my eyes, took it for a spin, and realized this blackhole-on-wheels would probably suffice. It was in our price range and, most notably, available. NEEDING a vehicle and lacking the luxury of time, I pushed shade bias aside, signed the papers, and picked up the Grand Caravan the following day. 

I have come to the stark realization that the universe is working against me whilst in a minivan. The red one had sustained a minor deer graze prior to its second (and fatal) autumn morning encounter. I was hopeful the new van – dubbed “Black Beauty” for hopefully better karma – would not be a mammal magnet. Yet this van would reveal its own uncanny affinity: inanimate objects.

One sunny day on my way home from work, a large square of particle board from another vehicle decided to take flight. Airborne and heading our way –and despite my best efforts to steer clear of it– the board kissed Black Beauty right in the smacker. She was out of commission a few days for repairs; a cracked front bumper and engine block support, racking up quite a bit of change. 

Another day while minding my own business, an untethered mattress and box spring alighted from a small (open) trailer  headed in the opposite direction on a two-lane road. Ever the excrement magnet, you can imagine what happened next. Though I slowed and pulled over to avoid these delinguent  projectiles, the mattress hit and wrapped itself over my hood and front end with a cartoon-worthy BOING before bouncing up over the roof. Its sneaky, firmer partner-in-crime slid across the pavement and smacked the lower front bumper with a hefty THWAK. The other driver assured me it was all “just cosmetic damage,” and would I like him to “just pop the bumper cover back in place?” I politely declined and got his (reluctantly given) insurance info. At the end of the day, it was $3300 in repairs thanks to a wang-doodled hood and other malformations from what the offending driver stated was “just a soft mattress that really shouldn’t cause much damage.” I’ve secretly hoped his premiums lofted to the level of that mattress.

Aside from the inanimate, Black Beauty has also attracted other items aloft. On yet another day she sat parked, alone, in a freshly asphalted lot as I shopped, her raven shimmer coat sizzling against the ebony lot and crisp new striping in the hot sun. I returned only to gasp – and then laugh hysterically. Black Beauty had been thoroughly showered by an avian kamikaze formation that offloaded what seemed a generous (and long-held) payload. Checking surrounding asphalt yielded not one errant drop. That’s when I knew the universe really had me in its crosshairs.

I’ve often wondered if the interesting karma from this higher vehicular cosmos is indeed directed at me or toward the minivans in my life. There’s clearly a connection but the reason alludes me. My utilitarian transport has endured several bumps in the road with bruises fixed not-so-inexpensively. Yet I’ve continued to haul cargo, people, the dog, college supplies, and lots of coffee (hell, everyone’s coffee) in my trusty beast, aware of this potential for abuse. From errands around town to cross-country road trips, all my minivans have been ridden hard and pulled in dirty and wet. It’s just how we’ve all rolled during this season of life. And despite the grit there has been another (albeit quietly) distinct benefit: no worry of theft since no self-respecting criminal ever wants to be seen in a minivan.

I still miss my red Town & Country, but what Black Beauty lacked in looks she’s certainly made up for in useful fortitude. I’ve come to reluctantly praise her merits despite the occasional lost darkly hued item within her even darker folds. Or her annoying tendency to smugly (and repeatedly) illuminate her “check engine” light in cold weather because her princess gas cap isn’t seated just right. 

While I’ve coveted fancier models of transportation, I’m quickly reminded that a variety of objects continue to (un)serendipitously find me. My track record just isn’t great and if I drove a luxury car I would surely be the target of a random meteor or aggressive animal migration. And then I’d spill my coffee from, most likely, a solitary beverage well. 

Nah…..not worth the risk.