POLLEN POOP EVERYWHERE

Welcome to New England Pollen Season, where everything inside of the house and outside of the house is coated with a thick layer of yellow-green dust, and massive sneezes are the norm.

My car finally gets to the point of zero pollen visibility, so I wait in a long car wash line with other similarly pollen-coated vehicles. It is a long line because, dumb us, we all decide to go on the weekend. So, on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon, rather than being outside doing normal people stuff, we are wreaking havoc with street traffic in order to give ourselves a moment of pollen reprieve.

The staff is on pointe. There is a zipper system through two turnstiles feeding us into the one drive-through car wash. Oh, sure, I could go to the do-it-myself bay, but, at this point, I just want the damn stuff off my car, and I'm not willing to run the risk of missing any of it. So, through the car wash I go.

Car washes of old were simple affairs. You drove in, managed to get right into the tire tract (I'm remarkably accurate at this), and you could see the spray hoses, the dryer vents, and, sometimes, the workers strolling along the cat walk beside all the machinery.

Not now!

Now, going through the car wash is a disco experience. Lights flash, colors change, and the spray wash mimics a bad acid trip kaleidoscope of melted water weirdness. It's almost like falling down Alice's rabbit hole. Coming out the other end, where the world is normal again and the sun is its regular color, is a disorienting experience after thirty seconds of psychedelic auto bathing. 

I am so proud of my car! It's black again, just like in the old days when I first bought it. It's no longer a dusty neon greenish.

However, this glee is short-lived. Pulling back into the parking lot of my complex with my vehicle, I drive through what appears to be a thick fog of yellow pollen. As I lock the car doors and head to the building entrance, I cough with each inhalation of pollen as it beelines for my nostrils. I know where this is going. Dear gawd, I do know exactly what will happen.

Fifteen hours later, as I prep to leave for work, I head toward my car. It is no longer black. No, not a single car wears any color except the freakish lime green of nature. While I am quite glad that I managed to get the first coating of the crap off of my vehicle, it doesn't help much since I will have to bring it back to the car wash. 

The worst of it is that the new greenish marks looks more like the trees just decided to crap pollen on my car. But, this time I'm not giving in. I ignore the fact that all of the recent rain on the radar map has dissipated before it got to my area. The Spring joke may be on me, but I can wait it out.