Sunday, January 27, 2019


I, a grown-ass man who has been driving for over 20 years, performed my first wiper fluid change today.

It was a big deal.  All these years, I've always just had it done whenever I happen upon my local gas station, which is one of the few full-serves seemingly left in Ontario (nay, the WORLD).  But today, my wiper fluid ran out while I was on the highway, so it required immediate attention.  In hindsight, it's pretty lucky that it ran dry when I was just a few minutes away from a city....having to navigate one of those long, rural stretches of 401 when there's nothing around for miles would've been pretty tricky if one, y'know, can't see.

So I pulled into the service station, read my car's manual to learn how to exactly perform the task, briefly considered asking the attendant and/or a random person getting gas if they could help, chastised myself for being such a wuss, walked into the station, bought some fluid, went to my car, opened the hood, removed the cap on the wiper fluid thingy (the technical term, as per the manual), poured it in, re-affixed the cap, closed the hood, remembered that run-on sentences are the mark of a truly incompetent writer, tossed the empty fluid container into the recycle bin, went back into the station to give my hands a thorough wash, bought myself a Pepsi as a reward for being so competent, paid for the Pepsi, gave the confused attendant a big thumbs-up, and went on my way.

Then I turned my car on and it exploded, since I'd poured the fluid directly into my engine.  This is a blog post from beyond the graaaaaaave.

Well, no.  Trust me, that would be an anti-climatic way to kick off Ghost Blog, which I've already arranged to begin publication after my death.  I just turned my car on, the fluid worked well, and I went on my merry way.  Mark grew up a little this day.

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