Everyone knows that if you want your car to look dirty all the time, get a black car, which everyone also knows is something of an irony because black should be able to hide dirt, but since every bit of road grime (except for hot oil and new asphalt) is lighter in tone, it shows up on the finish as bright as white on a crow—very apt for the story I’m about to tell.
I’m considering buying a new car this fall. A 2022 Ford Maverick, which is like a hybrid truck-car combo, something Ford is claiming to be new and innovative and practically never seen before. Apparently no one there remembers the fabulously awesome El Camino!
But really, the Maverick is not like an El Camino. It IS a pickup, just assembled in the same manner as cars, making it extremely affordable. And it suits my purposes nicely. I’m considering buying it in white. Though I probably won’t buy it this year, as I’m pretty principled when it comes to buying new new cars. I generally buy 1-2 years used, when they’re much cheaper. Basically, I’m kicking tires. Though I did put my name on a waiting list, so we’ll see.
In the meantime, I’m trying to maintain my current car, a 2015 black Ford Fusion, as best I can. It’s in pretty good condition with only just over 30k miles on it (I’m a homebody and going to my mailbox is often too far for me to travel). Kelley Blue Book puts it around 15k. Not bad, seeing the Maverick’s starting sticker price is just over 19k. And luckily for me, I only want the very basic model. Again, in white!
So whether I buy the Maverick this year or wait another year, I’m trying to keep my Fusion looking good. And my attempts have been successful until just last Wednesday when, at nearly 80 mph, I hit a 5-gallon bucket of white paint on the highway.
You can probably imagine the rest, but I’ll tell it anyway.
I was driving my son out to Park Ridge (where my wife and I both grew up, incidentally) to see his grandmother, uncle, and aunt. I was in the middle lane. About five miles to the 90-294 interchange the car in front of me slammed on its breaks, jerked right, then swerved left. I had no idea what was going on, but I reacted immediately, and attempted to slow in kind. Luckily, I was following at a safe distance, so there was no threat of rear-ending the car in front, but a second later, I realized rear-ending the car was the least of my very immediate problems. Like a cannonball, a garbage can (yes, a garbage can) rolled into view in front of the front car, which corrected even more to the left to not hit it but was too late and ended up ramming the can with its front right end. The collision popped the lid of the garbage can open, and surprisingly, a burst of white exploded out the top. I had no idea what happened until the can ricocheted off the front car and I got a look in side to see a 5-gallon bucket of white paint, open and spitting its contents all over the place. And it was headed right for me.
Quickly, I slammed on my breaks and—looking back on it, the wrong move—swerved right, but not enough because I hit the can with my front left side, releasing a second burst of white. I recovered, and the whole incident was over in about two seconds. In fact, my son, who’d fallen asleep in his seat, never stirred. But the damage was done. In my mind, I saw my entire car splattered in white paint.
When I got to my mother-in-law’s, I hopped out to check the damage, and was a bit relieved to find that the paint splatter was really only on the front left side, though getting it out of the grill was going to be trying, to say the least. Basically, though, it looked like a pterodactyl took a poop on my car, which is what I’m going to go with if I bring my car in for a trade!
