As you know, I love sussing out stories from my
surroundings. And as a fourth-generation Californian, I look to motor vehicles
as extensions of people’s personal narratives. Whether it’s stating practical
capabilities, asking the big
questions or going Mitty,
your vanity plate is more than just an tag. It’s like a DMV equivalent of a
hashtag, actually.
In the Old Dominion, of course, people are somewhat less
inclined to be, um, freewheeling than on the west coast. Long after
Californians had been pushing the envelope for raging against the Man (or
whatever), Virginians were spending extra to have their initials on their
plates. If they were making long-term bets on their marriages, they’d have
his-n-hers initials.
These days they’re opening up some, as I’ve noted
before. And you're more likely to find sweetness and light, as in this nature lover:
But here’s someone living on the edge:
And I’m thinking that the guy who let this one get out of
the state pen didn’t know anything about Aleister Crowley. Probably thought it
was the applicant’s mama's name.
Even so, the award for taking the piss goes to this person
back in my home state:
That’s what I call making a statement.
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