Wiper Blades

Profanities ricocheted around the garage. I was trying to replace wiper blades on a 2016 Subaru Forester and failing, failing, failing. Four separate botched attempts over two days. I had consulted the directions on the packaging a dozen times. I had watched two different YouTube instructional videos a half dozen times. I'd whipped out the Leatherman for some prodding and nearly shattered the housing and sliced a finger.

The contraption made no sense! I'd changed wiper blades before but not in a decade and a lot had changed. I was losing my mind and didn't want to drive to the Subaru dealership for assistance because my previous experience with their service department had provided farcically incompetent.

One more try! I couldn't stand the idea of being defeated by a manufactured object, especially one made mostly of plastic and produced by a robot.

And...failure again! I fired a blunderbuss of profanities and walked out of the garage.

What to do? Think! Of course! The Russians! The Russians can fix it! The Russians can fix anything, including our elections!

Less than a mile away stood an old fashioned filling station and garage run by Russians. No corn dogs. No malt liquor. Just mechanics in greasy coveralls smoking cigarettes near the propane tank. They could attach the wiper blades with ease and keep smoking at the same time.

What a great notion! I'd drive the Subaru there and pay $20 in cold hard cash for one minute of labor. Of course the Russians would go for it.

I jumped in my rig and raced to the station. The garage was closed. No matter. The gas man would set me up. I pulled up next to a pump and killed the engine. A sign read OPEN but there was no one around. A battered red sedan from the early 90s driven by a young bearded man bounced into the parking lot. The sedan was stuffed full of living shit. Bundles of more living shit were tarped and roped on the roof. It was vehicle that had the unmistakable look of a domicile. I say unmistakable because I see about a dozen every day whether in Portland or Gold Beach or Bend or Oregon City.

The man backed the sedan into a spot next to the office. He hopped out wearing an orange safety vest and sprinted toward me.

He was the gas man. He was the gas man living out of his car. He was the gas man living in his car parked in his place of employment!

I was standing outside the Forester.

“Hello sir, how can I help you?” he said with tremendous enthusiasm.

He wasn't Russian and he was homeless but he also had a job and a place to live.

I gave him the lowdown on the wiper blade installation offer. He gobbled it up and started riffing on the preposterous crap that were these wiper blades.

He replaced the passenger-side blade in seconds. He hustled over to the driver's side and went to work. Something was hung up.

A vehicle pulled in. The gas man sprinted over and got the order going. Another vehicle arrived. He got that order going, too.

He ran over to me and said, “I'll be with you in a second sir.”

Then another vehicle pulled in. A frenzied five minutes elapsed of the man pumping gas, taking payment and trying to replace the blade. He kept his calm. He didn't swear. I did. We were so close.

Finally, a lull occurred. The gas man took up the blade and presto! It was attached! He didn't use one of the parts but it was a piece of cosmetic housing and useless.

I slipped him an Andy Jackson and thanked him. He thanked me and sprinted away to deal with another customer. I drove out of the station and looked back. I put it all together and it all made perfect sense. The Russians needed a gas pumper. A young man living out of his vehicle needed a job. He wanted to work. The filling station most likely had after hours security issues because every similar business in Portland does. Why not let the man work at the station and live in his domicile on the lot? He could access water, electricity and a restroom. The office might even have Wi-Fi!

A strategic private partnership was founded. There was one more person working and one less person living in an encampment. We need hundreds more like this one all over Oregon.