David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published May 27, 2003

You can see OUT, but I can also see IN

I have a confession to make. I'm a vehicle voyeur. I'm so ashamed. I'm seeking counseling, but I just can't help myself. I'm weak, and there are so many opportunities to indulge my habit. They're everywhere I look -- cars, trucks and SUVs, all with windows, all inviting me to take a peek. They tempt me. They entice me, they do.

I'm not the only one out there. There are millions of automobile voyeurs roaming the parking lots of America. Any place there's a parked car, our group has someone looking into the situation. That's literally what we do. We look into the situation, or, to be precise, we look into the cars.

I've tried to stop myself, but I can't. It happens almost every time I park my car. When I get out, there's usually another car next to mine.

Sometimes I take a quick peek. Sometimes I take a good, long stare. Sometimes I peek and then stare.

I know it's wrong, but what's the harm? Apart from maintaining my mental health, what's the downside to taking a quick inventory of my parking neighbor's vehicle? It's not like I open the door to get a better look, and I don't stick my head through an open window. I don't even bend down and move closer to the glass. I'm a subtle vehicle voyeur, but you'd be amazed at what you can spot from a few feet away.

It's like getting a glimpse into someone's personal life. Our cars are extensions of our homes. We eat in our cars. We work in our cars. We listen to music. Some of us watch TV. Some folks smoke in their cars.

I'll bet that, for what I suspect is a hilarious list of different reasons, most of us have changed clothes in a car at least once in our lives. A few of us even take catnaps in there. With a few notable exceptions, what you do in your home is essentially what you do in your car. For some, even the "notable exceptions" probably have seen a little drive time, too.

Usually a car's contents are fairly predictable - papers, fast-food bags, half-empty soda bottles, packs of cigarettes, briefcases, child seats, the cupholder used as a coin collector. From time to time I'll come across a basket of laundry or a yapping dog who wants to demonstrate what an annoying little bark he has.

What's so fascinating about that stuff, you ask? Well, nothing, in and of itself. The thought-provoking aspects are almost imperceptible. For instance, taking a closer look at the fast-food bags can reveal a wealth of information. If I see half a dozen bags from the same restaurant chain, that tells me the driver is a creature of habit. In addition to haunting the same grease pit day in and day out, I suspect he even orders the same combo meal each time. The No. 4, I'd guess, super-sized. Once he finds something he likes, he sticks with it, rarely daring to step away from the routine for fear that, horror of horrors, he might be disappointed if he tried something new and different.

However, a car littered with a varied and eclectic mix of fast-food bags tells me this is a connoisseur of the deep fryer. It's all good. He's never met a french fry he didn't like, and the thought of visiting the same restaurant chain on consecutive outings is a wasted opportunity when the world's heating lamps have so much to offer. Tacos, fried chicken, burgers, roast beef, pizza, fish, barbecue, egg rolls -- the highway is laid out like a smorgasbord, and life's too short not to belly up to the buffet.

That's what I gather just from the fast-food bags. Imagine what my nimble, yet warped, mind can discern from drink bottles, newspapers and magazines, cigarettes, child seats and even the coins in the cupholder.

The relative cleanliness offers another window into the driver's soul.

Some of the neatest and tidiest people often have the messiest cars and vice versa. It's as though the neat people put so much effort into keeping themselves presentable that they simply don't have the wherewithal to keep the cars clean. Conversely, the messy people who keep their cars immaculate seem to be saying to the world, "Yeah, well, I'm a mess, but look how shiny my dashboard is, and you could eat off my floormats!"

Like I said, I recognize that I have an illness. That's what it must be, a condition of some sort. Maybe it's even a syndrome. It can't possibly be a character flaw, can it?

And this is what I gather from a seven-second peek into a parked car. Can you imagine what I'd learn if I actually met these people?

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@chartertn.net.