I Spy With My Little Eye …

By Jim Hagarty
2017

The other day, I was in a big mall parking lot, when I spotted a brown car. Not just any brown car, but the brown car I have been waiting all summer to take a photo of. For some time, I have wanted to write a little story about how you don’t see brown cars any more. As soon as I came up with that idea, I saw brown cars everywhere, of course. But not the quality of brown I was seeking.

My theory about the scarcity of brown cars goes back to an article I read years ago which anaylzed car accidents by the colour of the vehicle. Yes, someone had done a study which showed certain colours of cars are more apt to be in accidents because other drivers can’t see them well enough on the roads. Brown was a big offender. It blends too well into the surrounding scenery. Same for certain shades of grey.

So I was preparing to write this very important treatise all summer but needed a photo of the right colour of brown to go with it. And there it was. All I had to do is pull out my smartphone and snap some pics.

But just as I was about to do that, way on the other side of the parking lot, a woman carrying several shopping bags emerged from a big box store. And she was sort of heading in my direction but I knew it would not be possible that she would be the owner of the brown car. There were, that day, 1,002 cars parked in that lot. She had 1,001 other cars to choose from. Still she kept heading my way.

Now this only mattered because I was shy to be taking photos of the brown car if the owner was anywhere about. I had a feeling said owner might find it sort of strange that a stranger was photographing his or her car, emphasis on the her.

So, you know the rest of this story. There were hardly any other people in the parking lot. They were all inside the big box stores scooping up bargains. And still this woman was heading towards me like some sort of laser-guided missile. And yes, she went to the brown car, loaded up her bags and drove away. I hope she made it home without getting into an accident.

So, please forgive me, but I am unable to complete my story at this time. I climbed back into my non-brown car and drove away.

Author: Jim Hagarty

I am a 65-year-old retired journalist, busy recovering from a lifelong career as an unretired journalist. This year marks a half century of my scratching out little fables about life. My interests include genealogy, humour and music. I live in a little blue shack in Canada and spend most of my time trying to stay out of trouble. I am not that good at it. I also spent years teaching journalism. Poor state of journalism today: My fault. I have a family I don’t deserve, a dog that adores me, and two cars the junk yard refuses to accept. My prized possessions include my old guitar and a razor my Dad gave me when I was 14 and which I still use when I bother to shave. Oh, and my great-great-grandfather’s blackthorn stick he brought from Ireland in the 1850s. I have only one opinion but it is a good one: People take too many showers.

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