To The Notes We Leave on the Cars of Strangers

Sometimes we try to be polite, like this:

Note found in my neighborhood. Not on my car. I also pay for my own space.

 Appeal to fairness, a sense of justice. A small but reasonable request from one hard-working, middle class person to another.

Some days, we get smartass:

source: http://www.passiveaggressivenotes.com/2012/06/18/or-ill-call-the-cops-maybe/

But today, I would like to leave a note that says:

Dear you, driver of the 1987 Honda,

Wait here for me. I’m coming back in 2 hours with sleeping bags, a camp stove and a metal coffee kettle. You don’t know it yet and you don’t know me, but we are going to hit the road.

You’ll drive first and I will listen. Tell me your whole life story. Don’t leave out any details. I want to know what your mother did to make you feel like she would love you forever and what your best friend did to make you feel like no one would ever like you again. Tell me about all your pets, real and imagined. Tell me the last dream you had and the last thing you said to your dad before he died. Was college everything you wanted it to be or was it a waste and so you dropped out after a year? Did you get a job selling cell phones in 1995 when they weighed 2 pounds and barely fit in a briefcase? Do you remember the 90’s? 

That should get us to Colorado. We aren’t stopping. I’ll drive from here. We will listen to all of the Beatles and then all of Tupac. Both in chronological order and you will need to be prepared to defend which is better and why, including artistic growth and social relevance. You should know I am a teacher, so basically everything is a test. The rules will never be clear, but I am generous with my grading curve. You’ll be fine as long as you have endurance. 

This is your lucky day. I’ve lost my patience with this life, and I’m taking me with you.