If you ask anyone who knows me what is the greatest skill I possess, they’ll very likely tell you it’s my automotive knowledge, my ability to assess any problem with any vehicle and repair it perfectly. I’m like a real life Mona Lisa Vito (Marisa Tomei’s character in “My Cousin Vinny”).
Okay, that was a complete lie. In fact, I know exactly two things about cars: 1) when the gas tank is running low; and 2) where to go to get more gas.
Which explains why I did something incredibly stupid yesterday.
I knew that the windshield washer fluid tank was nearly empty, because — and excuse me for using advanced technical terms — when I squeezed the thing that makes the fluid squirt onto the windshield, it was less a squirt and more a spit. Fortunately, I knew I had an extra jug of the fluid in my garage — by which I mean the area adjacent to our house where we park the car, not a place where any automotive work is ever done.
Armed with the refill jug, I popped the hood-locking mechanism and tried to remember where the windshield wiper fluid compartment was. We’ve had such mild winters over the last few years that my use of that liquid had been much less than forty years ago, when I lived in the northeast and needed to clean some type of frozen schmutz off the windshield at least 200 days a year.
So, I searched for something that looked like it held liquid. The first thing I spotted wasn’t the one I needed, as it clearly said “coolant” on the cap. Then it occurred to me that the windshield wiper fluid was probably in a compartment closest to the windshield, which I was able to find on my second try. I pulled off the cap and poured the replacement liquid through a funnel (expert, remember?).
To my surprise, it didn’t take much fluid to fill this compartment. I had a memory of needing about half a jug to fill it the last time, but this one seemed to hold just a few ounces. Clearly, I had made a mistake. But I did put the cap back on.
Then I looked around for yet another fluid-retaining container, and found one I hadn’t noticed before. Naturally, it was as far away from the windshield as it could be while still being in the car — but I could make out the words “washer fluid” imprinted on it. So, I stuck the funnel in and poured in the bluish mixture until, just as I remembered, it accepted about half of the jug’s contents. Well, goodie for me!
Except that I had no idea what the other compartment — the one I’d poured the fluid into first — was supposed to hold. It seemed unlikely that it was an auxiliary windshield washer tank. So, I did the rational thing and looked on Google, where I found out that it was where the brake fluid goes.
I see you nodding your head scornfully, because you know so much more about what’s under a car’s hood than I do. But let’s be honest. That’s not really much of an achievement.
At least I knew that I had created a situation that might be dangerous. I envisioned myself driving down the road, hitting the brake pedal, and feeling it go all the way to the floor because I had diluted the brake fluid with what is essentially soapy water.
It was at this point I knew I had to call in an expert. And by that I mean, the service department at a nearby dealership. When I explained my dilemma over the phone, I’m pretty sure I heard the guy at the other end muffling a laugh or two, as if he couldn’t wait to tell all of his colleagues about the idiot he was talking to. But he said yes, they could flush it out and refill it with 100% brake fluid. Then he added this: “However, you probably shouldn’t drive the car.”
I wasn’t about to call a tow truck, so I thanked him for the warning, but since the dealership is only about three miles from my house, I said I would take my chances. I finished with, “I’ll see you in a little while. And if not, at least you’ll know why.”
Fortunately, I was able to get my car there in one piece without endangering any other humans or vehicles, and the service technicians were able to get the flushing and refilling done in about an hour. At which point I drove home, confident in my ability to stop whenever I needed to.
I was also fairly certain about two things: 1) next time, I’ll know exactly where to pour the windshield washer fluid; and 2) I invented a new way to flush $165 dollars down the drain.