The Jessica Chronicles: Wiper Worries

Things happen in my life. They're funny, ironic, crazy, and sometimes just things. Like, for instance, right after I broke up with the guy I had dated for two years, the first song I heard on the radio was "I Don't Love You Anymore" by Teddy Pendergrass. Go on, listen to it. Seriously? If you don't think that's funny, ironic, crazy, or some combination of the three, you owe me a dime. They're those moments when I'm sure my life is secretly a movie, or some sitcom that I don't know about. I'm sure they happen in your life, too, but I can only write about mine. These are the Jessica Chronicles.


This week in the Jessica Chronicles....


We have huge storms in southwestern Michigan. I know that I can quote some person or other claiming the county I live in as located in the very tip of Tornado Alley. That's not a true statement, but nonetheless, we often have huge thunderstorms, and our fair share of tornadoes.


There was a huge storm the other night. Friday night. The night I decided to transfer my dad's newly purchased vehicle to our friend's house.


Why does a new vehicle need to be taken to someone else's house, you may ask? Well, allow me to elucidate. My family has this thing about getting good deals. My mother is the most skilled coupon clipper in the world, my older brother will die before he buys something new that he could fix, and my younger brother is so often at Goodwill that they now have a place for him to sleep. My dad is a compulsive good-deal-getter. You can see it in his eyes and the way he scrunches his face when he is contemplating a good buy. I know exactly what his face must have looked like when he put in the bid for the old Sunfire that was available in the silent auction at the county jail. (Apparently, they repossess and sell the cars that belong to those whom they arrest...) I saw his face when he found out that his bid was the winning one.

It was ecstatic.

I took him to pick it up and followed him home. Upon getting out once we had reached our house, he informed me that it smelled bad and that the brakes needed work. (Still ecstatic.) He then declared that it should be taken to Bruce (our amazing mechanically-gifted friend who has saved us HUNDREDS of dollars in car repairs) so that all of its various issues could be determined.

I'm trying to become the favorite child in the family, and my attempts include fulfilling the requests of my father.



Thus, Friday afternoon found me making the (what should be) 5-minute drive over to Bruce's house. I was following my friend Tara, with whom I planned on jumping into the lake after dropping off the car. She'd been pushing me to swim with her for days. This trip would be two birds, one stone.

Lovely.

Or so I thought. I had been informed by a friend that it was raining in a town about fifteen minutes to the west of where I live, and that it would be headed my way. It would have been great if he had let me know that along with the coming rain would be a storm that would tear the world at the seams. He didn't, though. I did see the lightning begin to flash in the not-so-far-off distance during our little jaunt around the lake, and was right in the middle of thinking that swimming would be a no-go when the first drop of rain ominously hit my windshield. I closed the sunroof and (manually) rolled up the windows. Moments later it was pouring. Pouring-pouring. Not just the kind of pouring that people refer to when they want to make a story sound dramatic, the kind of pouring when the rain might as well be a cement wall in front of you. I couldn't see a thing.

Naturally, I start fumbling for the switch to turn on the windshield wipers.

...I fumble.

...and I fumble.

...and fumble.

A few terrible moments passed as I realized that the switch upon which the control for the wipers sat had been broken off at the base. It doesn't even exist. Awesome. I fumbled again for the hazard lights and stepped on my brakes, hoping Tara could see well enough to not smash into the back of my car. I contemplated just stopping the car and making a dash for hers, but was afraid I would be hit and killed by some driver as equally unable to see. So I began to roll down the window...

...and then promptly rolled it back up when I deduced I was getting wet.



There few a few more seconds of indecision before I gave in to the conclusion that I had to look out the window to drive. Thus, I dramatically threw my purse to the side and thrust my head out the window in a very Angelina-Jolie/chick-in-an-action-film kind of way. I'm pretty sure I yelled, "Move the purse!" in order to help myself along. It was a great plan.


But you know what's not easy to do when there is a load of rain and 80mph winds?

See.



There was a lot of bobbing in and out and thankful prayers that I knew the roads well enough that I didn't have to stay out the window, but nonetheless I was drenched by the time I parked the car and dashed into Tara's.


She stared at me, mouth hanging open, and asked, "Why are you soaked??"







That was the moment I remembered that all the windows back at the house were wide open.









*there was plenty of laughter/screaming in terror involved in this episode of the Jessica Chronicles.