Three Stages of Wiper Hell

Quick – bags in van, peel out of driveway. I’m off my game today. Daryle took Daniel on a road trip and I just couldn’t seem to function and get out the door on time. Running much later than usual, I’m in a mad panic to drop Andy off at daycare and get to work. As I approach the stop sign at the top of our first hill the wipers start.

Swish swish? Really? I don’t think I turned them on. Or did I? Swish swish.

We turn the corner and continue roaring up the hills towards daycare while I try to turn off the wipers. I rotate the knob on the lever. No change. Swish swish. I push on the lever. No change. Swish swish. I pull on the lever. Swish swish. Aaargghhh! Turn another corner and pull over. The wipers are already driving me bananas and they’ve only been swishing for a minute. Turn off engine, remove key, re-insert key, restart engine. Swish swish. Fine. Just fine. I will just focus on driving to daycare. Frig.

But the benevolent minivan gods are looking down from the heavens above and give me a break. The wipers just stop. Ahhhh. Relief. The rest of the journey to daycare and then work is uneventful.

After work I stop by the bank as usual to make the business deposit. It being a sunny afternoon I know I hadn’t started the wipers. Noticing someone else’s wipers going while walking through the parking lot I conclude that there must at least be one other poor soul having wiper issues today. Wrong. They were my wipers! Dang. This time around they’re making scraping sounds, so that instead of swish swish, they sound like scritch scritch. Benevolent minivan gods, where are you? Scritch scritch.

The few blocks between the bank and daycare have suddenly become embarrassingly long. Scritch scritch. The no-longer-benevolent minivan gods are torturing me in retaliation for breaking some golden vehicle operating/maintenance law. Could it be because I haven’t fixed the leaking radiator? Scritch scritch. Surely it can’t be for the humiliatingly loud and grindy sounds my brakes make? Really, I thought I’d paid for that sin dearly when the brakes decided to seize on the way to taking Andy to the doctor’s office. Besides, the brakes are almost new. Scritch scritch. I’m begging: please, please make the wipers stop…


Park at daycare, stop the engine, go inside and retrieve the Andy. Even with the engine off…


“Did you know your wipers are going?” a passer-by comments. “No, thank-you for pointing that out. I hadn’t noticed” I hope the dark cloud over my head indicates to him that I’m being facetious.

Parking the van in the carport at home, I pull out the wiper arms, thinking that at least the battery won’t be drained quite as quickly – less resistance. Wave wave. Wave wave. Try as I might I cannot get the damned things to stop. Even whacking the steering column doesn’t work. What is Daryle going to think when he gets home from his road trip? Wave wave. I peek out the kitchen window occasionally as I feed Andy his dinner. Wave wave. Clear the table and tidy the kitchen a little. Wave wave.

Daryle calls to say that they’re heading back. They’re only a couple of hours from home. “Can’t wait to see you Hon, drive safely” Wave wave. Bloody hell. I’m not going to have any battery left in the morning, I’d better start the engine to recharge the battery. After running for a minute or two – CLICK – the benevolent minivan gods take pity on me and the wipers stop. Not trusting them this time, I leave the wiper arms poking outwards.

Really Dear, they were constantly running. I couldn’t get them to turn off. Daryle will never believe me. I just hope they behave themselves tomorrow.

About Christine N

I'm married to Daryle, Mom to two wonderful boys - Daniel and Andy.
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