We all have our personal brand. We all have a lane.
Dr. Fauci has medical knowledge and perfectly timed face-palms. Beth is our Outlander subject matter expert. I’m here for the sportsball, but since all live tennis tournaments are cancelled, I’m struggling.
So let me try something else I am very good at: judging ugly ass shit. Welcome to the first in the quarantine series I am calling Thanks, I hate it.
Something About a Truck
In America, most people buy cars for their maximum usage. One day they might need to buy some plywood from Home Depot or haul junk to the dump, so Americans — mostly dudes — buy trucks. Most of the time, the trucks are sitting in a Schaumburg, Illinois, office parking lot. “Are you in construction?” “No, I’m a regional manager for Xerox.”
A few years ago, my local streets were full of metallic gray Toyota Tundra pick-ups. Hell, I even dated a guy who had one, so after
he dumped me we broke up, I would see one and think, “Is that Dave? Oh wait, is that one Dave? Is that Dave in the West Marine parking lot? Is Dave at Applebee’s getting mozzarella sticks without me?” We live on an island, and I saw Dave everywhere. It was almost never Dave. So many stupid grey trucks.
But lately, I see fewer gray Toyotas and more of this uninspired tan color. For a while, I just called it the Silly Putty truck. Since there is no reason to not to know anything (copyright Google), I looked up the official name. QUICKSAND. Not since Gilligan’s Island has quicksand been this popular.
Threatening, sinister Quicksand. Ugh. I hate it. It’s the perfect color to appeal to cosplay pew pew gun nuts who talk about freedom not being being free but never quite made it down to the Army enlistment office for the Iraq War.
Sand Storm in my Neighborhood
My neighbor — let’s call him Eric — bought one of these trucks. Eric is retired and always working on his cedar shingles, but he never seems to be done. His air compressor runs all weekend long. Eric sets off boom boom fireworks when the Pats/Bruins/Red Sox win championships. He is friends with another neighbor who once asked me, “Are you familiar with the philosophy of Jordan Peterson?”
It doesn’t shock me Eric bought this heinous vehicle.
At best Quicksand is the color of canned Blue Buffalo Chicken Dinner for Dogs. At worst, it’s the diarrhea your dog has on the sidewalk that you smear into the concrete when you try to pick it up with the plastic bag.
This is nothing against Toyota. I come from a Toyota family, and every car I have ever driven or owned has been a Toyota. 1985 Tercel. 1991 Corolla. 2004 Corolla. 2015 Camry. 2018 RAV-4 Hybird.
But car and truck paint needs glitter. Vehicle paint should be fun. Only the actual military needs camouflage for the dessert. Car paint should not be the color of bread. No one should drive a truck the color of Jake-from-State-Farm’s khakis.
The Toyota truck in Quicksand? Thanks, I hate it.
Amy takes pride in being a grumpy optimist. Want to talk sports ball? Amy is your girl. Her favorite New York Times crossword puzzle day is Tuesday. If your book is set in the former Soviet Union or World War 2, Amy will read it. As a recovered Southern Baptist, she is raising her daughter to be happy.