The Man-Van

If you know me, you know I drive a mini-van. (sigh). It’s not the car of my dreams, but at this stage in my life, it is what I drive. After we had Titus, we knew we needed a bigger car, so Becky got her new Suburban, and I got her mini-van. It was not the 2-seater convertible I had hoped for during mid-life, but as Becky says, “whatever you drive has to hold at least 4 kids”.

So, I drive the “man-van” – (you gotta call it something to make it seem more masculine). Actually, most of the people at work are envious of the automatic side doors and seat warmers (at least that’s what I think). And, it’s a bit like a transformer when you fold all the seats down. It’s amazing what you can haul back there. In fact, our huge leather couch fit back there when we moved. But I digress.

Since I have the “man-van”, it never fails that when we go out to lunch at work, I drive (because who else has a car that seats 7 and they can watch a movie on the way). My co-workers drive Porsches, Land Rovers, Mercedes, Lexus, and Infiniti's that always seem to be too dirty or too small for them to drive. Most of the time, I only have 1 or 2 people in the car with me. But yesterday was different.

Now, I work with some of the greatest people in the world. If you know me, you know I’m not the smallest guy. I tip the scales at just over 200 (but am working on it.) But, out of all the guys I work with (except for our one resident health/fitness buff), I am the smallest. The other guys are . . . let’s just say MUCH bigger than me.

Yesterday was one of those days for the guys to go to lunch. And everyone decided to squeeze into my van. After everyone gets in, I fire up the van. And the message center starts blinking “2 tires – low pressure”. And the largest of all, says with a clueless but chipper voice “Paul, you got two low tires”. And I’m thinking “Duh, Sherlock – yah think?”

But, my discretion meter kicked in and I kept my mouth shut. And then we scraped the chassis as we were pulling out of the parking lot and I had absolutely no acceleration. I can hear the springs groining every time we go over a bump. The car must have known I was mistreating it, because when we arrived, it reached out and ripped one of the guy’s pants – at thigh level – very big hole that left his boxers flapping through. I have no idea how the car did it, but I it was at that point I realized, my car has an attitude and doesn’t like being mistreated.

So this is a note to the man-van. I promise not to overtax your payload at lunchtime by putting 4 guys in that weigh a collectively 1500 lbs. I promise to wash you once a week as long as you don’t reach out and tear anymore pants. And I promise get some new CDs for you to listen to since you are tired of Toby Mac. Thanks for getting me to work in one piece.