Moron Mornings and the Golden Glisten of Dulled Pane

This morning I did one of the dumbest things I’ve done in… well, probably in hours, but let’s say weeks. I walked out of the house to leave for work and noticed that my car window was thick with frost. “Oh, shit. Frost. I’m gonna be late,” I thought to myself. “Oh, shit. Frost. I’m gonna be late,” I said out loud, because really what’s the good of cussing if you’re not going to let it free?

With frost and time as my new enemies, I frantically start thinking of ways to outwit them both. The average person would start scraping, which is the frost removal method recommended by the Department of Motor Vehicles, God, and the Windshield Scraper Manufacturers of America. But I was feeling unconventional and lazy. Plus I had taken a personal vow to never, NEVER support the scraper industry. (They think they’re so smart.) So, in need of a creative solution to my frost problem, the brainstorming process began.

The initial thought popped into my head with the force of ten thoughts. It appeared in big red letters, and it read “HOT WATER.” Now, seeing as I do have a small amount of common sense and a 5th grader’s understanding of physics, the hot water thought was quickly pushed back out of my head with the force of eleven choirboys singing “That will crack the windshield, yoouuu stu-pid mor-rooon.” So I was back to square one, and 10 valuable seconds had already passed. Time was winning. Thinking that I might as well do something productive while I figured this out, I switched the windshield wipers on full speed. At least they could chisel away at the problem until I came up with an ultimate solution.

I felt like I was on the right track with the hot water. Some sort of liquid had to be the answer. It just couldn’t be hot. So what could this super solvent be? Then the idea hit me. Actually, I guess it didn’t hit me so much as creep up on me quietly while I wasn’t paying attention. From somewhere in my vast 24 years of accumulated wisdom and knowledge, I drug up the vague memory of an old household tip. Coke makes a great window cleaner.

“That’s right. Perfect. I have half a can on Pepsi in the cup holder. Pepsi will work just as well as Coke. All those sodas have like magical abilities and stuff. I’ve read this somewhere. This will work. Oh you clever dog!” I thought. Actually, there probably wasn’t that much thought. More likely it went, “Coke cut grime. Pepsi work. Let’s do this!” So without giving it any further thought... SPLASH. And in a single instance three things happened:

1) Instant Slushy. In my haste I hadn’t recognized the sheer stupidity of my logic. Soda is great for removing bug guts, but sub-freezing frost has very different physical properties. Namely, it is sub-freezing. Cold window + cold Pepsi = brown ice. Delicious brown ice.

2) Flying Slushy. Having failed to turn off the windshield wipers before dumping the Pepsi, the resulting slush immediately took flight. The blade’s trajectory, coupled with my unfortunate positioning conspired to create a direct hit straight back at me. Face, shirt, jacket, car door… all Pepsinated.

3) Stupid Stink. The odor of stupidity filled my nostrils, making me think, “Hold on, did I really expect this would work. I’m actually more retarded than I thought. Maybe I shouldn’t be allowed to operate moving vehicles.”

Swallowing my inner retard, I scraped, scrubbed, and hit the road. I swung onto I-40 east totally flying. Really late. Making the turn into the low morning sun I realized the Pepsi challenge was not yet over. This beverage might be my ultimate downfall. The sun turned my entire windshield into a brilliant, glistening sheet of amber. All I could make out were vague shapes, brake lights, and the cold, exposed middle fingers of drivers as I sailed blindly, yet, undaunted into swerving oblivion.

It was about this time that the Pepsi slush on the inside of the door started to melt and drip onto the leg of my pants. And these aren’t just any pants. These are my 3-days-a-week pants. You know what I’m talking about. The pair you wear Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and think nobody notices the repetition or smell. So, now I have to actually clean them. Damnit.

That was the last straw. Defeat became me. I wept openly. Sticky tears of stupidity streamed down my face. I reached up a clinched fist and hollered, “You win this round world. But I’ll be back. And next I’m covering YOU with soda.”

So, onward I drove, blind with Pepsi and rage, considering my revenge on the world and enjoying what turned out to be a pretty tasty slushy.