Jeepers! She’s topless in a drive-thru!

By TRINA SEVERSON

Friend of Scaramouch

Editor’s note: Scaramouch columnist Scott Saalman is battling a migraine. His writer friend Trina Severson is pinch hitting for him today.

It was November 2021. The pandemic was rounding the bend of its second, long year. The Braves defeated the Astros in Game 6 of the World Series. And I bought my first Jeep: a 2016 Wrangler.

I didn’t buy it for adventure. Or towing capacity. I bought it to deliver mail. I’m a rural carrier and this beauty was Right Hand Drive. Steering column, pedals and controls all on what was normally the passenger side for easy mailbox access.

But I was conflicted.

I’m a Subaru Person. I drive a Forester. Subarus fit my peace-love-and-nature vibe. I mean, I wore Birkenstock sandals in the ‘90s – with rag-wool socks. I snacked on granola. My friends smelled like patchouli.

When I drove my Forester, I felt a kinship with other Subarus on the road, our bumpers plastered with COEXIST and I BRAKE FOR TURTLES stickers. We filled the lots of public lands and nature preserves. We often had dog heads sticking out of our windows. Love. It’s what makes a Subaru a Subaru.

And now here I was behind the wheel of a Jeep. It looked rugged and tough next to my sleek little Subaru. Would they get along? Would it bully the Subaru in the garage at night?

My husband reassured me. “Honey. It’s a metal box with wheels. A non-sentient thing. You’re going to love it.”

He was probably right. I’d just need to get used to it.

Within a week, strange, Jeep-y things began to happen. I first noticed it in town – other drivers waving as they passed. I was confused. Drivers on country roads waved as they passed, but not usually on city streets. That would be exhausting. I soon understood – it was Jeep Wrangler drivers. Waving to other Jeep Wrangler drivers. I mentioned this to my Jeep-owning friend, Renee. “Oh, yes, that’s the Jeep Wave,” she said. “We all do it.” We do?

I began waving back, mimicking other drivers, my hand resting casually atop the steering wheel in the 12 o’clock position (no 9-and-3 for Jeep drivers – that’s Subaru).

Some drivers offered a two-fingered peace sign rather than committing to the whole hand. Others coolly raised an index finger. Did the different styles signify something?

“Nah,” Renee said. “Just variety – all friendly. And don’t worry about the wave hierarchy.” I blinked. “The wave what? I thought you said hierarchy.”

“Yeah. Usually, the lesser jeep waves first.” She had to be messing with me.

“The lesser Jeep?”

A quick Google search confirmed she was not. There really was a wave hierarchy. Dirty Jeeps, Jeeps with modifications, Jeeps with the top or doors off – they were superior. What if they had RURAL POSTAL CARRIER plastered across their doors? I wondered.

A few days later, I walked toward my Jeep in a parking lot. Something was wedged behind the door handle. A little rubber duck with a tag attached. Huh. Bathtub Salespeople were getting creative. I glanced around suspiciously, then read the tag: YOU’VE BEEN DUCKED!!! Your Jeep is sweet! Share a smile and share a duck! Duck, Duck, Jeep!!!!

I turned the little duck over in my hand. The signed card included the hashtag #duckduckjeep and encouraged me to post a pic on social media. I scanned the lot but the ducker was gone. It was a drive-by ducking. I perched my new friend on the dash and drove home.

I Googled the hashtag and discovered Jeep-ducking had begun during the COVID-19 pandemic – maybe even earlier – as a way to spread kindness and camaraderie. From there the trend had exploded.

I took a pic, posted it on the #DuckDuckJeep page, and went on with my life. A few days later, I checked my post. It was full of likes and comments. Other Jeepers had shared photos of their own Jeeps. People of all ages and backgrounds with a weird love of Jeeps in common. I soon noticed another theme. Most of these Jeeps had names. I scrolled through the pics and comments:

Hey Girl! This is Rock Lobster! What is your Jeep’s name?

Welcome to Jeep Life from Calypso!

Nice Jeep! Here’s my ride, Big Booty Judy!

I closed the app and made dinner. That night, I lay awake in bed, thinking of Jeep names. I chose Birdie. The Jeep made little chirps and trills and I was a longtime bird nerd, so it fit. I jumped on Etsy and ordered a personalized decal to display on her hood.

I was growing fond of the Jeep. My beloved Subaru started spending more and more time with my daughter. I joined a couple more online Jeep groups. One got together for trail rides and posted an event: Join us for a topless ride! Or get totally naked! Don’t forget to show us your topless photos!

Of course! Why have a Jeep if you don’t take the top and doors off? I couldn’t deliver mail topless, of course, but off the route? Birdie should fly!

My husband impulsively set her free for the first time on a family outing to our local ice cream shop. But not before it was our turn at the drive-thru window. As we pulled up, he stood, his upper body sticking up through the roof as he maneuvered a T-top panel down to our daughters in the backseat. The young drive-thru worker gaped at us. “Uh…here are your cones…”

I leaned around my husband’s midsection and waved from the right side. In the back, my daughters tried to reach their cones from beneath the panel. The attendant gave my daughters an awkward, empathetic glance. Maybe he had weird parents, too.

But I was beaming. I was topless in a drive-thru in a right-hand drive vehicle. My husband had been right. I did love the Jeep. I loved the Subaru, too, but I had big plans for me and Birdie. We were going places.

Last week, as we walked to the garage, my daughter asked what vehicle we were taking. “Birdie, she’s all fueled up,” I said, fully aware I was now anthropomorphizing a vehicle.

“Honey,” my husband said jokingly, “It’s a metal box with wheels. A non-sentient thing.”

“Oh, but she’s not,” I teased back.

“OMG, Mom,” my daughter said. “You’re turning into one of those Jeep people.”

“Shhhh!” I said as we climbed into the Jeep. “The Subaru’ll hear you…”