Spring Break
A License Plate Identity
Emily Hemson
Issue date: 5/30/08 Section: Forum
This past weekend I had an encounter with Wolf Girl.
While this may appear to be a superhero encounter, that assumption is entirely wrong.
Rather, Wolf Girl was a plain, mini-van driving plebe just like the rest of us.
Only one thing was different, her license plate.
"WLFGIRL"
The letters were emblazoned on the tree-etched rectangle of tin as though they were destined to be there.
As I sat behind her, in my car, I began to wonder when she reached the point in her life where she was no longer a plain old license plate girl, and instead the customized wolf lover she now announced to the world.
I began to wonder what her house looked like.
Did she have miniature statues of wolves everywhere? Was there a stuffed wolf by her fireplace? Did she have a solid collection of wolf T-shirts?
I decided she probably owned a husky, as they look most like wolves. I imagined the porcelain wolf mugs that she consumed coffee out of every morning.
I then wondered what her husband thought. Did he like wolves just as much? Was his license plate "WLFBOY"?
As I contemplated these questions about the stranger in the van ahead of me, my car began to veer off into the rumble strips. When jolted back to reality by the rapid shaking of my steering wheel it occurred to me: Why did I even care about this random stranger?
It's interesting the facts we decide to project to everyone around us. Cars become billboards for our political thinking, or our musical obsessions. But how accurate are these representations? Is it really possible to define yourself by six letters on the back of a car?
About a year ago, I inherited my dad's old automobile. While I believe my inheritance stemmed from my dad's realization that he was in fact driving the most feminine car on the market, he suggests otherwise.
However, with this inheritance came one very prominent feature, a personalized license plate.
"TRIBUG"
While this may appear to be a superhero encounter, that assumption is entirely wrong.
Rather, Wolf Girl was a plain, mini-van driving plebe just like the rest of us.
Only one thing was different, her license plate.
"WLFGIRL"
The letters were emblazoned on the tree-etched rectangle of tin as though they were destined to be there.
As I sat behind her, in my car, I began to wonder when she reached the point in her life where she was no longer a plain old license plate girl, and instead the customized wolf lover she now announced to the world.
I began to wonder what her house looked like.
Did she have miniature statues of wolves everywhere? Was there a stuffed wolf by her fireplace? Did she have a solid collection of wolf T-shirts?
I decided she probably owned a husky, as they look most like wolves. I imagined the porcelain wolf mugs that she consumed coffee out of every morning.
I then wondered what her husband thought. Did he like wolves just as much? Was his license plate "WLFBOY"?
As I contemplated these questions about the stranger in the van ahead of me, my car began to veer off into the rumble strips. When jolted back to reality by the rapid shaking of my steering wheel it occurred to me: Why did I even care about this random stranger?
It's interesting the facts we decide to project to everyone around us. Cars become billboards for our political thinking, or our musical obsessions. But how accurate are these representations? Is it really possible to define yourself by six letters on the back of a car?
About a year ago, I inherited my dad's old automobile. While I believe my inheritance stemmed from my dad's realization that he was in fact driving the most feminine car on the market, he suggests otherwise.
However, with this inheritance came one very prominent feature, a personalized license plate.
"TRIBUG"
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