An existential state of being.

So I was walking back to my car, and I looked around and saw this car. Nothing much out of the ordinary. It had one of those sticky mats laid out on the dashboard. You know, the ones you use to put tissue boxes on so that when you turn a corner, the tissue box doesn't slide across the dashboard? Well, this car had that.

Nothing weird about that, surely?

Now, on top of this mat, and this mat being red, was a plate.

 

A plate.

 

As in, those things you use to put food in and then you eat from it.

 

A plate.

 

A glass plate.

 

A clear glass plate.

 

Not particularly beautiful, and not much of a decorative item either.

How on earth does one decide to put a plate on their dashboard? I assume such a decision was made, seeing as the plate was there and someone must have put it there. It looked like one of these plates that you got free when you bought the bigger packs of toothpaste.

Now, don't get me started on why toothpaste companies looooooove to give free plates!

Back to what I was saying. So, there was this plate on the dashboard.

Whyyyyyyyy????

What joy do you derive in having a plate in plain view of your vehicle's dashboard? Is it temporary? Did you just think, oh, I'll only be a while, let me just put this plate on the dashboard.

What??

What sort of historical moment in your life led up to the pinnacle moment upon which you decided to place that plate on your dashboard, and then proceed to leave your car. Does the mat really keep it from moving about? What if it suddenly wasn't sticky anymore, and then you turned a corner, and then it smashed against the steering wheel or something?

Who put it there? An absent minded housewife, a distracted husband? A playful child? A cranky adolescent? Who? Who??


Why was there a plate on your dashboard??? Who are you? What do you have to say for yourself?