Although it is impossible to picture Prada fashions worn while driving an aged “day-worker” style mini van, this is now a painful memory that will forever be embedded in the minds of those around me. Although my shrink has already been notified of this new tragic and life changing experience that will mostly likely take hours of shock therapy to overcome, I have rescinded to the fact that perhaps for a couple of days, I looked at life differently through the eyes of Julio, my alter-ego.

It all started with my back side driver’s side door deciding it no longer wanted to operate. Perhaps a sign of stubbornness during a somewhat warm and moist day, or perhaps a motor and belt suicide as it no longer saw any value of continuing to function the way it should: window goes up, window goes down. Sometimes I think how amazing life would be if it were that simple. Could I just function as a window motor? Predictable, repetitive, but essential. If I wasn’t up to my job, it would be noticed. If so, would I still wear Prada?

Wednesday, my day off. Well not so much as I had a closing and a Design appointment. My car was not ready and I had to get a rental and quick, with the consolation that I would get my Audi back the next day in time for work. I had imagined I would get a compact car as usual, a Kia, Chevy, or something cute, small, American and cheap. To my surprise, the only thing they had on the lot was Julio: a large soccer-dad style blue old fashioned mini-van with seating for a retarded family, perhaps one of those fundamental religious sects that never discovered the benefits of contraceptives.

Of course I bought the damage waiver. For those that have had the pleasure, or scary thrill of riding while I was driving would understand why. I drive a small car for a reason. Joel driving Julio would unequivocally pose a danger to society equivalent to Armageddon.

Was it really possible that a material possession such as a car could change my identity and image I have been developing over the last (as if I would tell you) years? Would I really let something this meaningless get in the way of my sales style? I parked the car very, very far from my office. I walked to all my homes, I went through McD’s twice and ordered things I never in a million years would contemplate digesting, and I left my Prada at home.

I came to the conclusion that I was just feeling out of place. I had allowed my environment to determine my mood and my behavior. Somehow, I felt different. Thinking back, this happened often. When I traveled in unfamiliar places, I felt differently. When I interact with people I don’t know, I feel differently.  When I wear clothes I don’t like, I feel differently. And now, when I drive another a mini van, I feel differently. In the struggle to always be ourselves, is it possible to acknowledge that to accomplish this all the time is just plain impossible?

Today, Joel is back, and Julio is not a so much a distant memory. I need a drink.