Love it or hate it: Car-eating

by David Holub

Love itIt all comes down to transitional periods, those times where you are between destinations or activities, where one activity has stopped and another has yet to begin, a no man’s land of lost time.

I like work and I like home, but the 15 minutes in between I could do without. I like Durango and I like Santa Fe, but the 3.5 hours in between is a hassle, no matter the scenery or the podcast I have playing.

Enter food, the easiest way to pass time since sleeping. When I’m eating something delicious, time ceases to exist. I’m in a state of flow, a trance-like disposition that I emerge from only when my stomach tells my brain to stop. Once, I was at a crawfish boil and stood at a troth-like table and ate shellfish, sausage, okra, and corn until I could eat no longer, or about 15 minutes. Or maybe it was 45, I lost count.

This is why food in the car is so satisfying. It satiates us physiologically and hijacks our perception of time. And the saltier, sweeter, and fattier the food, the more a boring, passive experience disappears into the ether.

David HolubHate itHere are the things that happen when I eat in the car:

I will drop half a blue raspberry Airhead, and because I smash Airheads in my palm and form them into a ball, it will roll under my car seat and become under-ass auto grime because I will forget to retrieve it when I get to my destination.

I will spill fries. I will think I have found all of these fries, but inevitably, there will be one on the ceiling or in the seat-back pocket. Fry smell will not leave the car for months.

I will spill coffee. There will be a pool of caffeine in the cup holder and no napkins to clean it, not because of me dropping the coffee but because the lid popped off as I picked it up.

Here are things that happen when other people eat in my car:

I end up wanting to kill friends because are you kidding me? WHO BRINGS BBQ IN A CAR? And no, you may not eat your Burger King bullshit in my backseat. Oh, it’s only chips? Great. There’s potato dust all over the passenger seat and you left trash in the door. Not cool.

Patty Templeton


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