I’m picking up my wife from work on Monday, because of the rain. I’m 10 minutes early. A strange scene unfolds in the parking lot. A man arrives, gets into his car, gets out again, walks to the back, fiddles around there, looks at his fingers, gets in and drives away. Then two more men and a woman: same routine. I don’t understand it. A little later my wife gets in, I put the car in reverse and glance at the screen that then turns on. I get out. “One second,” I say, “just to clean the reversing camera.”
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