Just When I Was Confident in the Inherent Goodness of Mankind...

Out of the kindness of her heart (or the instability of her mind, depending on how you look at things), my grandmother has loaned me her car while she's out of town for a few months. One of the beautiful things about my area of Somerville is that you need not be a resident to park on the street. This morning happened to be one of the last street cleaning days of the year, so I parked further down the road than normal. I left the car in pristine condition.

But when I trekked down the hill to use it to run a couple of errands this afternoon, a strange sight met my eye. On the side of the car, I saw what I thought was diet Coke remnants splashed on the driver's side doors. Since it's cold out, I didn't think much of it. When I got in the driver's seat, I saw that there was goo on the windshield as well. I turned on the car, and tried to wipe it away with the windshield wipers and fluid.

Turns out, it was probably chicken grease that landed on the vehicle. After one pass of the wipers, I couldn't see a damn thing out the window for all the greasy white streaks on it.

I managed to clear off a small hole to peer through, and cautiously drove around the block to get a spot closer to my place. I went back inside and grabbed my grease-cutting cleaning products, a roll of paper towels, and set to work.

Eventually, I got the crap off the windshield enough where I could complete my errands, but it was still streaky and gross in the middle of the glass where my arms couldn't reach. After I wiped the wipers with some Lysol kitchen cleaner, they stopped spreading the grease and the car is back to normal.

My mood, however, still is not right. You've got to be some kind of asshole to throw chicken grease on a car. It's not trash night, so this can't be blamed on a burst garbage bag. Did some jerk get angry because he didn't get a spot on the correct side of the street for cleaning day, and decided to take it out on the car with out-of-state plates?

Whoever it was who fucked with my car, I hope he or she enjoyed themselves. I hope they delighted in watching the chicken grease roll down the doors. I hope they laughed and laughed at the idea of an unemployed woman heading out to run a few errands in her nearly 80-year-old grandmother's car, which was loaned to her out of the goodness of someone's heart, and instead finding it messed up not even 24 hours after it arrived in the city.

They'd better hope I don't find them. Or else I'm going to sic my grandmother and grandfather on them when they get back in a few months. Trust me, they'd rather have me or the cops coming for them than my outspoken French grandmother or stoic German grandfather.

Failing that: I hope he or she dies in a fire.