Biochemical Soul Musings on Nature, Science, Evolution, Biology, and Education


Cursing in the Rain

I'm driving along Interstate 40 to go to work in my 1988 Jimmy. Some of you may be familiar with my "Barney Wagon". I've had it over seven years (since the beginning of sophomore year of high school), and it's big and old and dirty and purple.

Right…so I'm cruisin' along and I think, "damn my windshield is dirty". Now the logical move one might make in this situation is to spray windshield washer fluid across the window and turn on the wipers… right? So this is what I did. No sooner did I have the wipers wiping away the dead dipterans from my windshield, than all of a sudden the wipers lock up while pointing at a 45° angle. "Shit", says I as I continue driving while cursing the vehicle that has carried me faithfully throughout my later adolescence and early adulthood. I get to work - ho-hum as usual - and do my duty to big daddy capitalism. It starts raining outside - not a drizzle mind you - but a cold hard shower.

"Damn!" thinks I as I continue paying my tribute to Mr. Bush and his minions. So the day ends thankfully and I arrive outside to find the rain has ceased. I jump into the Barney Wagon, with wipers saluting, and start the one hour trek home. I immediately check the wipers, which abruptly swing down to their original positions as if they had been waiting all day for that moment. You see where this is going no doubt, but there will come a major plot twist in this story shortly. So five minutes later a flash flood strikes. I turn on my wipers, which begin doing their job, and I can still barely see out the window it's raining so hard. Five minutes later my wipers return to their "half-mast" position and refuse to budge another inch. I pull over to the side of the interstate, get out, and screw around with the wipers trying to get them to revive.
They don't.

So I sit there for two hours waiting for the rain to stop. Finally it eases a little and I take the treacherous journey home, staring wide-eyed through a thousand myriad lenses of water. I make it home an hour later.

That was two weeks ago and they still don't work. I lied about the major plot twist.