Almost a week ago I noticed that my car, which was parked under a tree, had suddenly become covered in bird poop. Not a small quantity or a light speckling, but a full-on Jackson Pollock-style assault. The depth and coverage was almost artful. But still kinda gross. Somehow for the next six days I did not have a chance to wash the poor thing. We had a bit of rain one day that washed away some of the mess, but my car was still far from presentable. Yesterday I swung by a gas station with an automatic car wash, but it was out of order. Today I finally could take it no longer, and sought out another automated car wash. It was, as always, a glorious adventure. Automatic car washes are perhaps extravagant, but they give you the childlike sensation of being on a magical voyage through a foamy sea. There is water everywhere and you can't see out the windows, and there are loud noises that approach and retreat. The car even shakes a bit from the water pressure. And then, in no time at all, you roll away in a car that's sparkling clean. Pretty great. Of course, about two minutes after I emerged from the car wash, a torrential downpour began. Oh well. I'm sure that stuff was caked on good enough that it needed something more than rain to get it all off. It's just like two car washes for the price of one. What a steal!
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