Today I faced down my fears and victory was mine! I started by entering new and uncharted territory-- the automotive department. I admit, I almost balked when I discovered the only brand of wiper fluid they carried was called Slug-A-Bug, but I persevered carrying my purchase bravely to the cashier. When I could not find my car manual, I did not panic. I valiently explored the unknown crevices of my car’s interior until I found the hood release. The hood’s refusal to open more than a crack did not cause me to waiver in my purpose. As I peered into the grimy slit between hood and car, I said to myself, “You can do it, Mirth. You were 7th in your class. You pry open that hood, and you don’t think about the grease stains that are never coming out of your clothes. You don’t worry about the fact that you have no idea where to pour the wiper fluid and no manual to guide you. You just reach down there and you get that hood open!” And lo! I discovered a latch which, when depressed, allowed the hood to be raised. I strained with all my underdeveloped upper body strength and raised the hood high, basking in the glow of conquest. With renewed confidence (but waining strength) I quickly located the hood holder-upper stick and on only the second try, found the proper slot on the underside of the hood to rest it in. Now the entire engine lay bared before me, and I was determined to pour Slug-A-Bug somewhere into my car. I scanned the various lids, looking for some clue when I noticed one was imprinted with the symbol of a book with a fountain overlapped. “Aha!” I thought. “I work at a library with a fountain in front of it. This is a sign!” And so with a now-grungy washcloth, I removed the lid and listened with content to the glug-glug sound of victory, as I refilled my wiper fluid. With only minor thought of the peril to my own digits, I let the hood drop again into its final resting place. It was with great glee that I cranked my car and tapped forward on the wiper stick connected to the steering wheel. Bursts of glorious blue liquid sprang from the bowels of my car. Grit and sticky yellow pollen were whisked away, and a ray of sunshine pierced the now clean glass illuminating a face radiating with triumph.
Great! Good for you, Mirth.
Nothin’ like facing those ol’ windscreen washer demons, I always say …
How are you with changing the oil?