The Big Bang

Something exploded on my car last night. I was running late this morning (the story of my life) and had to drive to school, but when I saw my car, I literally stopped in my tracks. I've never done that before. If I had been holding a glass, I would have dropped it and it would have shattered spectacularly, just like they do in the movies. I stared, agog and aghast. It looked like a demented Jackson Pollock had released pent-up artist angst and rage on my car with a bucket of piss-yellow paint. (**Warning: fowl language approaching. I don't normally use it in the blog but, really, no other words can be employed in this particular instance)

I apprehensively approached the vehicle, unsure of what to do exactly. At first I thought that some of the neighborhood kids had enjoyed a fling with a paint gun or two. But then, upon closer inspection, the small, splattered, bright yellow blobs appeared to be bird poop. A lot of it. A LOT. My car was covered in piss-yellow bird shit. "Surely not," was my next thought. "What kind of birds shit in technicolor?" Evidently, the same birds that drink the water that makes a D.C. fish have both male and female organs. Or maybe they were drinking the dayglo. I couldn't even fathom what else that stuff could be. All I knew was that a liter of yellow bird shit had been loosed upon my car.

I looked to the car in front of mine. Clean as a whistle. I looked to the car on the other side. It shimmered back at me. I looked at all the cars all along the street. THEY WERE ALL CLEAN. How is it that I managed to park my car under the one tree that an entire flock of yellow-shitting birds decided to camp in for that one night? I have parked in this same spot countless times before. This has never happened.

Never, ever in my entire life have I ever been embarrassed to be seen driving a car. I had to drive my yellow-shit-covered car into the District in stagnant traffic that refused to move more than five feet a minute. I started to surmise that my newly decorated vehicle was causing part of the traffic. For the duration of the drive, I ran my wipers and wiper fluid and could not, for the life of me, pry that shit off the windshield. And then I had to park the car on a very public road. As I scrambled for quarters to feed the meter, I saw a student walk towards me, stare, walk away and look back, staring some more. I wondered if he knew me and I just didn't recognize him ... and then I realized with that sinking feeling that he had been staring at MY CAR.

The worst part is that I can't even take it to the carwash until Friday, which allows for plenty of time for that shit to cement itself to my car. Or, given the state of the Potomac's waters, time for that shit to eat its way through the metal.

You have to see it to believe it. Watch for pictures tomorrow.

UPDATE: Pictures available