Driving Diorama

Greetings to all you linguistic rebels and checkered spellers! Last week, we embraced the delightful happenstance of the typo, finding creative freedom by accepting flaws and letting go of the fear of perfection. I hope you found a few alternate spellings choices around town that sparked some human connection!

This week, we're getting into the car - an indoor space that we take outside - and focusing on a small, rectangular space that holds a whole host of unexpected mysteries: the glove box. Why do we call it a glove box? Its history dates back to before any of us were born, the late 1800’s, when cars, being open, drafty and entirely experimental, necessitated drivers wearing driving gloves for warmth. Cars also broke down all the time and AAA and the telephone did not exist, so every driver was also a mechanic. The box was literally a convenient place to store these accessories—a practical need. Today, that need is largely gone though driving gloves are making a comeback for those concerned about sun exposure and skincare.

So, why do we still need a glove box? And why do most of them still have locks? They exist now primarily as a semi-secure spot for essential car documents like registration and insurance, and yes, sometimes an emergency utensil or charging cable. The lock is a nod to its past as a small safe for valuables, but more practically, it’s a way to keep sensitive documents and personal items out of sight, out of mind.

For me, the glove box is kind of the junk drawer of the car. Every three years I clear out the expired hot sauce and old insurance cards and replace them with newer versions. What’s in your glove box and how did it get there? For our creative nudges, consider the glove box a microcosm of a driver’s hopes and fears. What can we fill it with besides “as seen on TV” car care products and business cards of people you will never call back? Perhaps one or more of these creative exercises can be just the distraction while you wait in line at the drive thru:

Glove Box Diorama (Visual & Narrative): Transform the inside of your open glove box into a small, temporary piece of art or a miniature stage. Use small objects you find around the house or on the floorboards; bonus points if it’s built to handle a curve at 25 mph.
Strata Box (Narrative & Memory): Open your glove box right now and pull out three items. For each write a short, imaginative backstory detailing how it got into the box. Was the receipt from a secret, spontaneous road trip? Was the bent paperclip a tool for a quick shoe repair? This exercise focuses on finding an epic narrative in everyday clutter.
Secret Space (Conceptual & Mystery): Since the glove box has a lock, imagine it’s hiding a profound secret that must never be revealed. It doesn’t have to be illegal, but it must be important. Write a short piece describing the weight and nature of the secret—is it a forgotten love letter, the launch codes for a silly childhood game, or the one perfect idea you haven't written down yet?
The Self Driving Car’s Glove Box (Design & Function): The glove box is generally there to help the driver. But what about when human drivers are the exception and not the rule? Design the next gen glove box. What new forms or functions must it address? Are robo-cops going to ask your robo-taxi for license and registration?
Passenger Manifest (Lyrical & Personal): Fill your glove box with five items that best represent your current life philosophy or creative manifesto, what would they be? Don't write the manifesto; simply list the items.

The glove box reminds us that even within the most functional machines, there are small spaces dedicated to human needs—storage, security, and sometimes, secrets. I encourage you to open your own glove box this week, not to tidy it, but to observe it. What story is its seemingly random collection of artifacts saying to you?

This column was written with the help of Google’s Gemini Advanced, a powerful generative AI writing tool.