To frame this story, the first thing I have to tell you is that I’ve been on a huge Taco Bell kick lately. I swear I could bathe in the sauce they put on their chicken quesadilla. Last night, in the midst of a little shindig put on by some of the older grad students for the first-years, the Bell started ringing in my head once again, beckoning me back towards that glorious fountain of fourthmeal goodness. Despite warnings that the weather may turn sour, I set out with an analytical comrade to pick up my usual order of two chicken quesadillas and a taco. It had rained a little, things were wet, and when we finally pulled into the drive-thru my driver’s side window was giving me a little trouble, as it often does after rain. With Taco Bell only a two-centimeter piece of glass away, I agonizingly rolled down the manually controlled window, stopping at nothing to ravenously bark our order into the microphone box. As soon as the scent of fourthmeal hit my nostrils, I immediately forgot about the window.
We got our food and pulled into the parking lot, and I went to work on rolling the window up. Strangely, now that my thirst had been slaked my strength seemed to be waning. Either that, or the window had caught on something in its rolled-down position. I pushed harder, harder, harder…nothing was moving…then…CRAAAACK. The window had come off its rollers. “Hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow,” said my burrito-devouring companion. Yeah. Talk about ruining the experience.
We ate the Taco Bell and went home. Then I woke up this morning to the horrifying sound of Hurricane Ike turning my car into Champaign’s largest lake. I got in the car around noon and I shit you not, my cupholders looked like Olympic swimming pools. I could’ve taken a bath in the water I wrung out of my shorts. And there was the driver’s side window, peering up at me like a frightened turtle receding into its shell. Moral of the story? Power windows are worth it!