In one of those deliciously-cruel twists of fate for the introverted, my car is an instant conversation-starter. I know – it’s pretty. I know – it’s unique. I know – you don’t see that color very often. I’ve heard all of this and more, and not just from members of the Mini Cooper cult. Most of the time I’m fortunate enough to be in motion and unable to respond to their thumbs up or smiles with more than a quick middle-finger. (Just kidding – I would never do that.)
And one time I am absolutely convinced it got me out of a speeding ticket – I have Skip as a witness.
The other day, after an unsuccessful shopping excursion at Troy’s Landscaping, I had just gotten into the car and closed the door just as I heard a woman in a mask and sunglasses exclaim that she loved my car. I paused for a split second, thought about the importance of social connections even among the introverts, and opened the door to say thank you. She took it as an invitation. I still had my mask on, and held the door open as she asked me the name of it (I didn’t remember – Tiffany blue?) and how long I had it (I didn’t remember – five years? Ten?) She came a bit closer, about ten feet away, and my mind suddenly wondered at its instant ability to clock such things after just a few weeks of living like this. She too took our distance and barriers as a simple fact of life, continuing with her inquiries and conversation.
“How do you like it?” she said, still on the car. “I’ve always liked Mini Coopers. They’re from England, right?” She had a bit of an accent, slightly Asian, and she asked about the license plate, which is my last name.
“Is is Latino, or Hispanic?” she said. I smiled, and hoped my eyes translated the smile. (Is that smizing?)
“It’s Filipino,” I said.
“Oh! I’ve been wanting to go back to the Philippines. I was supposed to run a marathon in Manila next January but now we’re not so sure.” The tall white-haired man beside her, whom I assumed was her husband, affably shuffled his feet, seemingly used to these side-tracked forays into conversations with strangers with masks on. “I was in Manila a number of years ago, and the person who showed me around was always very careful about seeing me safe! I’ve wanted to go back since.”
I nodded, on the verge of telling her about how my family sewed pockets into my underwear to keep money in before deciding against it, and simply stating that I had been there in 1997 and it was just like that as far as concern for valuables and staying safe went.
It was hot, and I was squinting into the sun, and my mask felt like such a hindrance. Her sunglasses and mask added to the outward elements of distance between us, but somehow I felt closer to her than I have to anyone in a very long time. She returned to the car. “How is the mileage on it?”
Do real people other than my husband actually know the answers to these questions?
I was about to answer, “Somewhere between 10 and 90?” when she realized I had no idea. I said I didn’t really know, but I wanted to give her something. She asked if I had any problems with it.
“I haven’t!” I said a little too excitedly, happy for an easy lob I could return. “I was initially concerned about its performance in winter, but it actually works fine with snow tires and some judicial decisions on not to take it out in a raging snowstorm.”
Her husband chimed in. “Do the back doors open separately?”
“Oh yeah!”
“That’s unique,” he said. “Is this the station wagon version?”
Back to the hard questions.
“Yyyyyeeeeeessssssss?” I said hesitantly, drawing it out and ending on an upward inflection, completely betraying my blatant insanity. “It’s got four seats – I just have it down for plants,” I said, trying to sound semi-sane.
They admired it some more and took their gracious leave. Part of me wanted to connect a little more, which is rare for me. Usually I want to end such random conversations before they even begin. Maybe I needed something more that day. I’m glad they were there to share.
Behind our masks, two strangers somehow managed to connect like only people can do. Imparting information (as limited as mine may have been) and finding common touchstones in places as far away as the Philippines.
Would I have done such a thing if we were without masks? I don’t know.
The world is in a different place now.
I’m in a different place too.
