Keep your meat out of my car

To say I am a compulsive neat freak is probably an understatement.  I have issues.  Lots of issues.  One of my more annoying and problematic obsessive behaviors has to do with preserving the purity and cleanliness of my vehicle.  Back when I was making great money and living a life I am now completely disassociated with - I treated myself to a very expensive car.  I had a momentary lapse in judgment and went the pretentious route, but stopped just shy of being completely ostentatious.

I drive an overpriced Volvo.  I don't even like it because it has a horrible turning radius.  It just doesn't fit my personality or who I am anymore.  I'm certainly not a soccer mom.  Nor do I personify the typical Volvo owner profile of a conservative safe driver.  Truth be told, I am really not even that great of a driver. But I am stuck with it.  Who would buy it in this economy?  So I am forced to make the best out of a rather irresponsible decision.   The guilt alone for driving this car keeps me from loving it completely.

Yet I am remarkably uptight about the interior upkeep.  Outside, layers of dust may embed themselves into the paint, just as long as my leather seats remain pristine.  It is really no fun at all being a passenger in my car.  I have rules.  Lots of rules.  The problem is, until you break one, you usually aren't subjected to them.  I allow you inside, hold my breath and hope there are no violations of what you don't know.

Some of the rules include no kids, no car seats, no shoes resting on the door or dashboard, jewelry is monitored for the possibility of snagging the leather (stop laughing, it happens.  I have the hole to prove it), and no food because food leads to crumbs and all sorts of messy incidents I would ultimately obsess over.  Interestingly enough, I don't adhere to any of these rules in other people's cars because I just can't imagine anyone else would be this preoccupied with something as petty as car cleanliness.

So the other night I was working on my laptop in the passenger seat in between Krav Maga classes.   One of my buddies, also killing time until the next class, popped over for a friendly chat.  Since I was in the customary guest spot, he climbed into the driver's seat and settled right in.  Now he has been in my car many times before without incident so I didn't think there would be reason to panic.  

He tossed a cheerful nod in my direction as he whipped out a hunk of chicken from a previously concealed ziplock bag.  Chicken!?!?  In my car.  Panic surged throughout my body.  He must have confused the look of horror on my face with hunger as he pushed the poultry in my direction asking me if I wanted a bite.  Still in shock, I leaned in and took a bite of the stringy chicken, unable to completely grasp the events unfolding so quickly before my eyes.  

I momentarily paused to evaluate the importance of our friendship as I contemplated unleashing a fury and throwing him out of my vehicle.  But he is a very good friend of mine and thankfully some sanity began to seep back into my conscious being.    But then he started touching my steering wheel with those slimy fingers leaving traces of chicken bits for me to discover later on. He was testing the strength of our bond without even realizing it.  I even think a few particles of the meat tore off and landed outside his oral cavity - ultimately onto my carpeted floor mats.

Thankfully the hearty laughter we shared provided enough distraction for me to be able to curb my own needless fixation on car hygiene.  Although when he offered to roll up the window on his way out, I quickly calculated the number of surfaces those fowl laden fingers would have to come in contact with and I cheerfully declined the assistance.