She knows I’m a Cylon.
Galactica is my 1987 Volvo Station Wagon. She’s a good ship, but then she does shit like try to kill me and I feel like beating her with a hammer. Or calling up Aaron Douglas and screaming “WHY WON’T YOU MAKE MY BIRDS FLY? I need my birds to fly!”
The latest shit she pulled was this weekend. I was heading to my friend’s house in Burnaby for a Friday night write-in. It was raining, which is the usual in Vancouver from about the end of September to the end of June. It was night time as well
, which is usual after the sun sets. I had my wipers going so I could see and not crash and die in a fiery ball of fiery death.
Then there was a clunk! and a scraaaaaaaappppppeeeeeee, and suddenly I couldn’t see out the driver’s side window. The wiper blade had come loose and flipped itself so it was now pointing outwards, and the metal bit that holds the blade on (I have no idea what these things are called, ok, I just drive the car and check my oil once a week) was scraping the windshield glass.
I pulled over and turned on my emergency flashers and stood in the pouring rain trying to fix the godsforsaken thing for about twenty minutes, perhaps half an hour. I’m not sure, because when my limbs freeze I lose track of time. It soon became apparent that I would not be able to reattach the wiper blade in the dark and driving rain, because what the fuck do I know about wiper blades, so I did the next best thing.
I drove with my window down and wiped the rain away by hand. The wiper blade was separate from the arm-thingy, so I just had to hold it by the corner, lean forward, and wipe away the rain when it got too thick.
The only problem with this is I have to use my left hand to wipe the windshield, and that’s my writing hand. So by the time I reached my friend’s place for the write-in, my hand was numb and cramped and wanted to fall off. I…didn’t get much writing done. Also her cat distracted me. It’s a valid excuse.
After the write-in I managed to fit the blade back onto the arm, and started the drive home. It was still raining, so I turned on the wipers. And the godsdamned thing flipped again, after about five minutes of driving.
I spent the entire drive from Burnaby to Coquitlam wiping by hand. I was exhausted and had frostbite on my hand by the time I got home. Ok, maybe I’m exaggerating, I was cold ok.
Once I reached home, I was able to fix the wiper blade again. I have a brightly-lit underground parkade in which to park my car, therefore there was light! And I could see what I had been doing horribly, horribly wrong before!
I fixed it and went to bed.
Saturday I decided to go to my boyfriend’s house. He lives in Delta. It was misting outside, but nothing as serious as rain. When I got about ten klicks from home — ie, past the point of no return — the rain started, so I turned on my wipers.
Oh, wait, make that wiper. Now that the driver’s side blade was fixed, the arm refused to work. I spent the entire drive looking out the passenger side of the windshield. Or out the window. That was fun. I love driving slowly and getting my face all chapped.
I am now stranded, more or less. Ogre’s going to take a look at the wipers and see if he can fix them, but if he can’t I have to go home before sunset so it’s a bit safer, and then I will be stuck at home until…I don’t know. Until it stops raining, or I have money for transit. So. June. (Gas is cheaper than transit right now.)
So much for my plan of not being a shut-in anymore now that I moved to Coquitlam.
ETA, 6:42pm: My boyfriend fixed it. Because he’s a frakkin genius, that’s how. (That or he’s more like Chief than I realized. In which case...win.)