A rinse would have shown respect

What was I thinking?

Toru’s sister Mari stays with us fairly regularly at Frog’s Glen. She says she likes to help with the garden. I think she relishes any opportunity to escape Tokyo.

I’ve noticed that once out here she also loves to jump into the car for rides just about anywhere. I don’t think it’s boredom…maybe it’s more about taking in any sights that happen along the way. She’s a quiet absorber.

The other day Mari spied white and brown chickens, seemingly no one’s in particular, pecking at the side of the road. A few weeks ago it was a fisherman hauling in what looked to be a sizable snapper or even a small tuna. “You shoulda seen it--that was dinner for all three of us,” she said with real wonder.

I mentioned today at breakfast I needed to go to town to pick up some sake and some Triple Sec at a small family run liquor store I’ve discovered. Mari threw up her hand to join. I kind of knew she would.

We got out to the side of the house where the car is parked and she suddenly stopped. “Oh no,” she whispered, both hands covering her mouth. “I don’t think you will believe it.”

I asked what was the matter and she said, “Poo. Bird poo…” almost with a tone of awe.

Now, we get bird crap on this wind-swept peninsula fairly regularly. The car is parked outside, and there is nothing out here but cabbage and rice farmers and permanently hungry wildlife a-circling. But nothing prepared me for what I saw as I rounded the back of the car to look at what had so horrified Mari. This was not “bird poo.” This was a planned attack. An unrestrained carpet bombing and strafing run.

Out of modesty I show you only the rear view mirror.

The entire left side of my car was coated in white and black shit. The bucket-size direct hits started at the front fender and didn’t end until just before the left back blinker. For any Americans out there, remember how a mercilessly egged house looks on Halloween? My car looked like that, but cakier.

We had been visited by either one super ill bird or a bird that assembled a ton of friends to collectively send ‘ol Jack a message.

I looked above the car. Where were these feathered fellows perched when they did their crimes? Know what? There isn’t a single tree branch or electrical wire above where I stop my little hybrid. There isn’t even an eave of our house. Just blue sky and fluffy clouds. I never knew birds crap “on the fly” so to speak. But it seems they do.

I felt the avian perps were looking at me as I surveyed their handiwork. Maybe hidden in the stand of bamboo just up the hill from us. Maybe safely dug into the tall weed cluster near the river trickle. “Serves him right,” they giggle.

But for what offense I do not know.

Mari and I decided there was nothing we could immediately do and it was just a short run into town to get to the liquor store. We would check our pride and drive anyway as if nothing was wrong. “We’ll focus on a few tracks from ‘Freewheeling by Bob Dylan and pretend this never happened,” I thought. “Maybe if I drive quick enough and not catch any reds no one will notice that my car is the lead float in the Shit Parade.”

We arrived at the liquor store’s gravel parking area a bit before 10AM. Just out the shop’s back door was the sommelier-licensed son of the family tasting a bright ruby red glass of wine. He was holding the gleaming glass up to the morning sunshine to check for any cloudiness it seems.

And yeah, in pulls Jack’s Crap Mobile mid-swirl.

Mari and I waved as we pulled up, and the son instinctively smiled broadly as he recognized my car. Then he saw the sick bird strafing run. His smile faded to a quizzical expression of what I can only describe as why would anyone not rinse that car before proceeding?

You have to understand. Japanese pick up, say, a clump of mud in their treads, and out comes the soapy water, bucket, and wire brush to remove the disfigurement before going a kilometer down the road to post a letter.

Mari and I chose to throw that entire ethos aside. We drove our billboard touting ‘Slovenly Living’ right into his family’s parking lot.

We purchased much more sake than normal. Yes, as an implied apology for dirtying up the family’s morning. As we drove back to Frog’s Glen the two of us laughed as we imagined Toru’s reaction when he found out how we had behaved. The poor choices we had made this morning…nay, in life overall.

Right now he is just outside my writing window with the high pressure spray gun, a soapy water bucket, and a wire brush. He is mumbling as he blasts. The car will gleam again soon.