I recently inherited my brother’s Honda Civic and was psyched to finally have a car of my own…until I opened the glove box. It was overflowing with empty CD cases, old candy wrappers and Mapquest directions to restaurants that went out of business two years ago. The trunk was a similar story, filled to the brim with a deflated air mattress, one lone sneaker, two beach chairs and (inexplicably) a flag. It was revolting but the deal was that if I wanted the car, I had to clean it.
Turns out it isn’t all that hard to take a gross “boy” car and make it pretty. Armed with rubber gloves and two giant garbage bags, I cleaned out all the old papers, water bottles, wrappers and other debris. Then I went to town with the Dustbuster, sucking up stray leaves and dirt. Finally, I had to attack the smell—a lovely mixture of salami and feet. I doused the floor and seats with Febreze and, as a final touch, replaced the creepy dragon hanging from the rearview mirror with a vanilla-scented air freshener. When my brother came home for the weekend, even he had to admit that his car now smells like flowers and freshly baked cookies.
Driving around in my made-over car with the windows down and the radio on has been great for my self-esteem, but not so great for my wallet. It’s so much easier to spend money now that my friends and I don’t need to ask our parents for rides to the mall, out to dinner or to the movies. And then once we’re out, it’s tempting to drive across town and grab frozen yogurt, or to go to Blockbuster and rent a movie on our way back to someone’s house.
Inevitably…unfortunately…I will probably have to drive myself to a part-time job. But at least I’ll be driving!
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