The Limo Graveyard
I recently discovered—well not “discovered,” I knew about it, so actually “utilized for the first time”—a bike path not far from my home. I don’t have a bike because I have nowhere to store one and no way to transport one, so I strapped on my in-line skates and my brother brought his skateboard and we went on a roll. As we neared our starting point, having traveled the length of the path and back, I noticed parked in front of a house an old limo, paint worn through in places, striping on the side partially torn off.
Which made me wonder: What does one do with an old limousine? You can’t really chauffeur anyone in it. Well, you can; it’s still functional, but no one who’d pay for a limo would pay for a limo like that. You can’t turn it into a kitsch car, like a hearse or an old ambulance. What is the shelf life of a limo anyway? I suppose there’s definitely a niche for a retro ’70s limo, were it restored and tricked out. But there’s that middle ground, one that’s maybe 10 or 15 years old—not old enough to be slick, not new enough to be hip.
So where do limos go to die? Do they just sit in purgatory for a while? Are they cannibalized. Oh, the misfortune to be born a limo.
Oh, but if limos could talk…