On Being the Bug

I've had bad windshield karma for as long as I've owned cars. If there is a loose rock or other menacing road detritus it will find a way to become intimate with my windshield. Guaranteed. Generally those renegade marauders leave behind a nice chip or crack or some similar destructive memento of their visit.

I was overjoyed when windshield specialists began offering the option of on-site replacement. On-site meaning MY site. They'll come right my car, wherever it happens to be, and install a brand spanking new windshield. I've had windshields replaced by the side of the road. In our carport. In the parking garage at two different jobs. Another by the side of a different road. Yet another in our driveway. I kid you not. And those are only the ones I vaguely remember. Who knows how many I've forgotten? The chips and cracks I get in my windshields are never, repeat, never minor enough to be repaired instead of replaced. Evidently my karma forbids a minor ding.

Last week I was driving along a road I often drive along. It was a melty kind of day. Melty in that the sun was shining and the temperature was moderate. The kind of day that hints of spring but really doesn't mean it. Passing under the ancient-but-still-functional railroad bridge, I swerved gently to avoid a large chunk of ice in my lane. From whence that ice came, I do not really know. I assumed it had melted free from the bridge above. Turns out that chunk of ice was the least of my worries. What I should have been worried about was the Chicken Little Effect.

Y'all remember Chicken Little don't you? The fearful biddy of "the sky is falling" fame? If you don't know the story, you're not missing much. She was such an alarmist. But I could have used her warning that day.

You see, as I passed under the bridge something fell from the sky. Actually, "fell" doesn't quite describe it. Something plummeted from the sky. Yes, plummeted is more like it. That plummeting something hit my windshield with resounding force, scaring the living shit out of me and causing my last non-gray hair to join the others. I softly cursed under my breath as I took note of the multitude of brand new spidering cracks now criss-crossing my windshield.

I assumed it had been another chunk of ice falling from the bridge. When I got home and took a look at the damage from outside of the car, it became instantly apparent it had not been a chunk of ice at all. Oh no no no. Definitely not ice. It was a rock. I knew it was a rock because that rock was perched jauntily in the groove between the hood and the windshield. That rock was getting jiggy with the wiper blades. I turned away in horror.

Karma is some tricky shit. Three seconds one way or the other and that rock would have missed me entirely.

This lack of windshield karma can get expensive.

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