A Trip Down Memory Lane in the Glove Compartment

    Nothing like scraping snow off the car with a broken lipstick. What else does she keep in here? What the hell is this? A metal top hat playing piece from a Monoply board game? Yes, Yes.  I can see the indispensible utilitarian value of this implement. Let's do a quick calculation, shall we?

    OK.  3 feet of snow already on the ground and still falling. Approximately 100 square feet of snow covering the roof, mirrors, windows, lights and grille. Rate of snowfall is approximately 3 inches an hour.  Projected to fall for another 8 hours. The miniature top hat holds approximately 0.00000000000001 cubic milileters all at once! Working at a steady clip without resting or pausing to exchange pleasantries with the neighbor about my cat's latest crimes, I can finish this job in -- umm, 100 into 0.00000000000001; moving the decimal around in a crazy counterclokwise motion and riding roughshod over the rule of "i" before "e" except after "c" and when sounded like "ay" as in "neighbor" and "way;" carry the 2, and remember to thank the helping verb -- why, I can finish this job 3 months after I'm dead already!    

    What else? A floor plan from the Museum of Modern Art from1996. Another essential item.  Maybe Mark Rothko and Jasper Johns could come over and help out. While we're waiting for them to show up, let's see what else we can find.

    Hey, look! A plastic fork!  No glove compartment should be without a plastic fork, because you never know when you might be driving alone in the wilderness when suddenly, some Chinese takeout will appear out of nowhere.  Imagine if that happened and you didn't have a plastic fork!  Then where would you be?  Up you-know-what's-creek without a plastic fork -- that's where. Maybe the plastic fork and the top hat could work together in tandem. Teamwork.  That's the ticket!  Get the job done in half the time.

    And what's this? Some kind of catalogue?  Why is it glued to the back of the compartment like that? Is it insulation to keep the fork warm?  I don't get it. Let's just rip it it out and toss it in the...Say! Victoria's Secret!  This looks like a good one.  I haven't seen this one, I don't think.  Let's examine it to make sure. Hmmmm. Indeed.  All sorts of important product releases in here.  "Tear away tabs."  What are those?

    What!? What's that?  I'm not reading anything! I'm just looking for a scraper or something in your glove compartment! You know, to get the snow off the car. I wasn't...This? It's, I dunno. It's a floor plan from MOMA. You want to keep that?  Yeah, OK.  Good. It'll definitely come in handy.  The cafeteria's on the ground floor in that indoor/outdoor courtyard around the corner from the Picasso baboon made out of a toy Volkswagon. That's good information to have for the next time you run out of gas right in front of MOMA feeling faint from hunger at that precise moment.  What's that?  Yeah, OK.  I'll see you inside when I'm done with this. OK. See you inside.  Warm up some kasha and chicken broth.
  
    OK.  Where was I? Say!  Look at all these parking tickets.  That's a good place to store 'em.  Outta sight, outta mind, I always say.  If you can't  remember that you stuffed them in here in the first place, then you don't have to pay them.  That's the rule.  I'm pretty sure of it. "Your Honor.  There was no probable cause to search the car.  Those parking tickets are fruits of a poisonous tree. That evidence must be excluded.  My client is innocent! The Commonwealth has no case! Thank you for ruling in my favor your honor. I move that the assistant district attorney be held in contempt and thrown into the dungeon!"

    Alright!   Who keeps a hair crimper thing in the glove compartment? Does she actually drive while styling her hair?  If it plugged into the cigarette lighter, maybe I could melt the snow away. Just think of it; if the hair crimper, the plastic fork and the little metal hat all used their special powers at once they could be like superheros, or something. They could star in a comic book series. They could call it: The Amazing Adventures of The 3 Chotchkes.

    What do we have here?  Gum? Hmm. Judging by the number of rings in the trunk, I'd say it dates back to the fall of the Berlin Wall.  Oy gevalt!  Hard as a rock!  Well, I guess I found my scraper. Hoo Boy!  That hurt! I hope I have some teeth left.

    What? I don't understand your sign language. You're making eating motions.  I'm not getting it.   Don't stand there with the door open, you'll let all the cold air in the house -- not to mention catch your death of cold.  What are you trying to say?  Why are you holding up a soup spoon?  Alright, I'll hold up a plastic fork.  No?  No good? How's about a hair crimper? Oh. Lunch is ready?  OK. I'll be right in! Yeah, I made substantial progress.  I'll finish up right after lunch {in some dreamworld, but not in real life.}  What!?  OK!  I'm coming!  I'm coming!

    Alright. I...Oh, great!  Now the door is frozen shut. I can't get out of here.  I'll just have to sit in here and peruse these parking tickets and any other literature lying around.  Man, I hate this. I could freeze to death in here reading all this old, outdated material. Why do these things always happen to me? In June, when the snow melts and they can finally pry the doors open, they'll find me lying in here dead clutching a floor plan from MOMA and a plastic fork.

    Admit it; winter sucks.