This morning, I had the pleasure of taking Suzy’s car—a vessel that had recently doubled as a refuse hauler for Goodwill and Habitat—to the industrial spa known as The Dilworth Car Wash. The interior was a biohazard of fallen leaves, dusty boxes, and what I suspect was petrified bagel. After a thorough cleaning, both in and out, I drove it off the lot. Immediately, I noted the phenomenon I always do: a clean car drives smoother. Significantly smoother, in this case.
Now, I understand the inherent absurdity of that statement. A car is an inanimate object; it has no consciousness, no mechanism to process the removal of a thin film of road grit. Logically, the feel of the drive is merely a figment of my newly purified state of mind. But I tell you, with the conviction of a man who has experienced the impossible, that a clean car, for whatever esoteric reason, drives better.
Why shouldn’t it? I feel better after a long, hot shower and putting on a crisp, clean set of clothes. What creature, from a golden retriever to a grizzly bear, doesn’t seem happier after a good bath or a cooling swim? Why should a hunk of glass and steel be any different after we’ve removed the grime and polished its metaphorical shoes? Perhaps we are not merely cleaning the car; we are performing a psychic tune-up, a little boost of self-esteem for the machine.
I haven’t owned a car in over thirty years—public transportation in DC made it a luxury we could forgo—but there was a time I owned a car that was genuinely my best friend. That was my beloved Austin-Healey 3000. I bought her used after the Chicago Bears informed me that my future in professional football was, shall we say, non-existent. She was my therapist, my confidante, and my getaway vehicle for the next couple of years until, tragically, a chicken truck wrapped her around a telephone pole. That day, I lost much more than just transportation.
We readily grant affection to living things—humans, animals, plants. But I believe it is possible to develop a deep, reciprocal relationship with an inanimate object. And if we, as humans, acknowledge that relationship by giving our trusty steed a little TLC, why shouldn’t it return the favor with a little extra zip, a smoother glide, and a general air of contentment? It’s not physics; it’s friendship.
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