I’ve got a lot of junk in the trunk of my car, literally: two scooters, four SAT books, two ACT books, a 36 pack of Vitamin Water and my 2011-2012 yearbook. So you might be wondering what’s the story to this amalgam of greatness that lies in the back of my vehicle, Lila, or maybe you’re not…but I’m going to tell you anyways.
Written by: Ellen Lee
Some people say it’s weird that I have a hot pink and purple Razor scooter in my trunk. And to that I say, why not? I’ve used these scooters so many times that whipping out my Razor as soon as I park Lila has become completely normal. When I’m running late for my class after lunch, scootering saves me four minutes at the least. And until someone tells me otherwise, I intend to continue utilizing my vehicles to get to class on time.
The four SAT books and two ACT books are in my car for the most obvious reasons. A minor reason is because sometimes, I actually do open my books and study for my plethora of standardized tests. But the major reason is because I have to walk out of my house with a book in my hands to convince them that I am being productive with my life, instead of just hanging out and having fun. I justify these (barely, not even) white lies because I occasionally put these books to use. Occasionally.
Although we’re only a family of four, or three as my sister is now in college, my dad still loves to buy everything in bulk. Because of the surplus of space Lila provides, she is used on our monthly adventures down Charleston to Costco. On my dad’s July excursion to Costco, he bought three 36-packs of Vitamin Water. He eventually became tired of unloading Lila and left a pack in my car. But I’m not complaining it’s actually really nice to have—a semi-infinite supply of drinks in my car.
Like most mothers, my mother gets really excited when the yearbook comes out. She wants to see all of my friend’s pictures and see all of the highlights of the year. Unfortunately, she also “accidentally” reads through all of my yearbook autographs, even when she promises she won’t. As we all know, yearbook entries are meant to be funny, or what our hormonal, teenage humors find funny, and unsurprisingly, she doesn’t have the same humor as we do. She cringes at the sight of the word “stupid” and annually asks me what “HAKAS” means. I’ve found a permanent solution to avoid this yearly conversation by leaving my yearbook in my trunk. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
Lila and I both don’t know what we have in store for this next year and who or what will join the family in the back. Slowly but surely, the available space in the back of my car is disappearing, so we are working to prioritize what we absolutely need (Razors and yearbook) and what can be removed (SAT/ACT books, ooh, ahh, you wish you were a senior). But who are we kidding, we love everyone and everything in my trunk, and therefore will probably end up stuffing it all back in, when push comes to shove.
