TREVOR NOAH AND A GARBAGE TRUCK

https://youtu.be/synJSNIJ8QE   ( link to the title of this)   

Interesting fact.

I drove an ordinary Hilman Vogue back in the late-ish seventies. Used the same filling station every week. Creature of habit. I knew the attendants. They certainly knew me. Good service. Friendly. Lovely people. Africans. Love them. All good.

My friend Doug has a clapped out Merc, holding on by the golden thread that love is, through menopause and breathlessness - exhaust fumes will do that to you.

"I'm going home to Australia for the holidays. Will you drive the old girl for me?"

"Gosh. Really? Its a big car. Do you trust me? (I am an undiagnosed weirdo who smokes non stop and is skittish in a good situation).

"She is easy to drive. She just needs to go for a run every day to keep going."

I think of an old race horse.  "Okay..." I am freaked out, but he is my best friend - the only friend to be honest, the only man who respects my friendship with him and does not presume benefits.

I drive old Daisy every day.  "She takes a while to get going, but once she's moving for a while you will feel her get more relaxed and you can put your foot down a bit more."

Filling station.

All the attendants pop out of nowhere and begin massaging the old girl. Windows get washed. Tyres checked. Oil and water. Check!  Smiles. Marvels. Service up by 90% in admiration and 100% in enthusiasm.

So, no. Noah does not emerge from a garbage truck.  

I tested this reaction over the years. People will grant you ridiculous attention, undeserved, just because you drive a Merc.

When one of my church friends found out I owned a Merc, since I always visited in my little Ford, I was astounded at how she changed.

I was a nobody she could tell her chaos to with heavy diamonds on her fingers and convertible Merc - lavender in colour - under her backside until she found me alighting from my dark blue bottom of the range Merc at the shops.

Suddenly I became a threat. Her stories were very confidential. Now she didn't know if I would keep her life safe.

I never judged her before, but after that it was hard not to.  I stopped visiting. I have forgotten even her name.

I had not changed. The car belonged, as everything did, to my husband. At first, I thought it said something about me in the car, but it says something about the nature of people who drive such cars.

I am not going to expound.

One car got me some kind of honour. Another put me in an ugly bracket.  Astounding, I tell you.  But, driving a Merc is really nice. Beats all other cars, but I love Alphas personally. I have never driven one. I will never own either, personally, I don't think.

Love and Light my lovelies