Saturday, January 22, 2005

When it comes to skating, I’m dedicated like a postman

I started my Saturday morning at 10 minutes after six. Seeing 6:10 a.m. on a Saturday is just really, utterly, painfully, insanely, stab-me-in-the-eye-with-a-sharp-poking-device wrong.

But I do it every Saturday.

Today’s 6:10 wakeup call was punctuated with a snowfall. Well, actually, the snow did a hell of a lot more than just fall. This white, fluffy bullshit collapsed, dramatically heaved its final breath and died. In massive quantities.

Blizzard-like conditions aren’t exactly a new and novel phenomenon for me. I left ten minutes early so that I could assure ample time for stopping at Tim Horton’s and driving on the back roads at speeds that I could cartwheel faster than, a condition that results from being trapped behind elderly women driving powder blue Chevy Malibus to the bagel shop.

I suffered through the drive on the surface streets but acted the part of an understanding, cautious citizen and I didn’t swear aloud at even ONE person. And that’s, like, way amazing for me. Once I hit the highway, I flew.

The surface of the highway was cleaner and traffic was sparse enough for me to assume the role of Asshole in the SUV Flying Down the Left Lane in Snow Emergency. My Mountaineer fucking kills snow; I felt like such a shooter.

Up until the annoying-ass phenomenon that is ice accumulating on windshield wipers.

For those of you who have not been privileged enough to experience the carnival of fun that is winter driving, ice on wiper blades equals a blurry smear of a view of the road. To remedy the situation, a driver either removes the ice or cocks her head, squints her eyes and perches at the edge of her seat while praying to her higher power of choice.

And here is where I went wrong.

I wanted to get the ice off of my wiper blades. But I wasn’t sure how to do it. “I’ll just do what Dad does,” I thought to myself.

As I am 22 years old, a graduate of an institution often labeled as a Public Ivy and a woman with enough street smarts to work ATM machines and gas pumps, I really should’ve known better: thinking like my dad never fails to land me knee-deep in a steaming pile of giraffe dung. ...figuratively speaking, of course.

When Dad has ice on his windshield wipers, he reaches out the window when the wipers are vertical, picks up the drivers-side wiper and lets it fall back to the windshield. Knocks off the ice.

And imitating Dad’s deicing technique seems like a great idea at 7:30 on a Saturday morning, cranked up on Tim Horton’s coffee and driving 60 MPH.

I watched the wipers until I found the rhythm. I rolled down my window, conveniently ignoring the fact that that the snowfall had diminished to a pathetic flurry and windshield wipers, with or without caked-on ice, were no longer necessary for a safe and effective drive.

I kept my eyes on the road and reached out the window with my very grown-up striped mitten.

And ripped the motherfucking windshield wiper blade off. Then dropped it. In the middle of a four-lane highway. During a blizzard.

I nearly wet my black yoga pants.

I instantly called my dad to bitch at him for being a poor role model. I ended up laughing too hard to unleash my full potential for nastiness. But I did wake him up, which was enough payback, since he’s in Florida (translation: not performing essential snow removal at my dwelling) on a drunken golf trip with his friends. And because Dad works in the automotive industry, he used connections to arrange a quick fix of my wiper blade. So I won’t hold a grudge against him for poisoning my mind with his inferior, dangerous deicing techniques.

When I finally reached my humble destination – the rink – one small coffee, a cinnamon-raisin bagel and a windshield wiper mishap later, I had labeled myself mighty foolish for even attempting the 40-minute-turned-one-hour drive.

And then I had a lesson with my skating coach. And skated the best I have in months. And performed so flawlessly that I left her weak in the knees, screaming “YOU DESERVE SARAH HUGHES’S OLYMPIC GOLD MEDAL! MICHELLE KWAN SHOULD CEDE HER 9 NATIONAL TITLES TO YOU! YOU ARE MY HERO, MY SUNSHINE, MY ONLY SUNSHINE AND MY INSPIRATION.”

Or she might’ve said, “nice lesson, kid.”

I can’t quite remember.

Either way, it made my commute quite worth it.


Plantation said...

Hmm, seems we have a few things in common here. No, skating isn't one of them cuz I can't even stand up in those things. You know I like to watch skating, you know I love THs, Timbits, etc, favorite bagel is cinnamon-raison, I have a friend named Darcy, and get this. I have tried the exact same stupid remove-the-ice gunk-off the wipers trick that you did and was every bit successful. Stripped the fkr right off.

Now then, did you HAVE to mention 'wet' and your 'black yoga pants' in the same sentence? SHEESH!

Finally, did you know there's a new skating movie coming out? I saw previews of it today. Might be a little cheesy, but I thought THAT could be you out there in those's the link. Take care!

slow poke kate said...

I don't know who to laugh at more. You or Plantation. ;)

The story had me nearly in tears from laughing. I must admit, I don't miss the snow in Chicago at all.

A said...

Really? I bitch about the snow and I am absolutely certain that I would miss it.

PT - I'm so square that I've known about that movie since it was casting. I think I need to find a small child to accompany me to that movie.

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