Car sitters

Thomas Francis Barrow, from "The Automobile" (1966)

You've seen them. In your neighborhood, around the corner, at the edge of the park, or maybe even in front of your house. They are neither coming nor are they going; often they're idling, but sometimes the engine is off as the driver -- or the person who would be the driver, if the car were being driven, sits within. Smartphones have made the problem worse -- one can see just by the tilt of the head what the person is doing -- but the practice pre-dates such devices.

I hate them. True, they haven't done anything to me; they're peaceful and rarely make a scene, other than the still-life of car with a trail of exhaust -- but they occupy space in a way that makes no sense to me. I'd like to walk down the sidewalk -- often, I'm walking my dogs -- but the sight of a car-sitter puts me off, causes me to cross to the other side. It's more pronounced at off hours -- I walk my dogs early and late, but there are always a few of these vehicles sitting out there, even at four in the morning.

"Get on with it!" I want to shout -- but I don't imagine the car-sitters would hear me. Some are blasting their stereos, but even the quiet ones are fixated on their interior space; were I to shout and be heard, I would be as much an intrusion to them as they, by their just being there, are to me. And after all, I don't own the streets, or wish to exercise control over people other than myself -- but I would like those who are in motorized vehicles to, well motor. Get on with your lives, head toward your destination, whatever it may be. But go! -- don't just sit there! -- move along!