Adventures in bumper stickering in a red county
There I was, sitting behind the wheel in the grocery store parking lot, stopped at the pedestrian crosswalk. One of those pedestrians stopped in front of my car, pointed at my Biden bumper stickers, did a little dance, dropped her mask to give a big grin with two thumbs up, then waved as she proceeded into the store. I waved back. That was one of the more delightful “sticker” encounters I’ve had; most have been brief chats with people happy to know they aren’t alone.
On the flip side, there have been a few opposition notes stuck on my windshield. And twice I’ve come out of the store to find Trump stickers on the car. Another clever soul left a length of crime scene tape across my windows. The car still has the key scratches running the length of both sides left by someone who objected to the stickers I’d added just two weeks after I got the car.
So why do I keep doing the stickers? Because I enjoy those brief affirming encounters. As for the less pleasant ones — what does it say about those who can only sneak up on an unoccupied car parked in a handicap space? So much for the “courage” of their conviction.
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