I saw this van at a grocery store a couple days ago. When I was taking pictures of it, an employee came outside and told everything he knew about the lady who drives it. Apparently, she goes to the store every day around noon and hangs out all day near the deli until they close at night. I actually feel kind of bad to post this but at the same time, I’m not happy about having to share the road with someone who drives around with such an unsafe amount of visibility-blocking bullshit in their vehicle, so whatever.
The van is so full of papers and garbage that there is “litteraly”(sorry) only room for one person to fit inside. It’s definitely a fire hazard, there’s no disputing that, but I wonder if driving around totally enshrouded by paper actually would protect you in the event of an accident, like packing peanuts. You don’t just drive this van to your destination, you fucking pack and ship yourself there!
You know this is probably transportation for the happiest family in the world. I’m more inclined to believe some fanatic of both John Wayne Gacy and Donnie Darko drives this around. Even if the person behind the wheel isn’t some horror movie waiting to happen, the vehicle is certainly a real-life nightmare. The scariest part is that they were really hauling ass. I had to work to get these two shots.
If cars could talk, I think most of them would probably just be complaining all the time. Loudly. They would whine about not having their oil changed often enough, about speed bumps, or maybe about kids spilling drinks inside them. Some of them would most likely piss and moan about not getting to “stretch their legs” on the open road often enough. Others would be begging to be painted a different color, or even to simply be run through a car wash every once in a while. A few of the grievances would be understandable, but for the most part, nobody would have anything real to complain about.
In a crowded parking lot world populated by obnoxious loudmouth econoboxes desperately vying for your attention, this guy would be way in the back by himself, staring at the ground, reluctant to even speak. There would be an awkward silence for what would have felt like an eternity, after which he would pick his weary head up, look you dead in the eye, and you two would share a brief moment of understanding. Just before you start to turn and walk the other way, a hoarse, gravelly voice- barley audible over the din of the parking lot- would utter “I’ve seen some shit”.