Oil get you, ya bastards · 16 October 2007
Probably not the best way to start the day.
I got home late from shooting a TV show last night and decided to do some cartoon work until around 3am since I’d been considerably unproductive for most of the day. I went to bed exhausted, but figured I could sleep until about 10am.
At 5am there was a frantic knock at the door. My eyes shot open, but I wasn’t sure if it was in a dream or if I had actually heard the knocking. Sure enough, the frenzied banging on my door started again, so I jumped out of bed and made a bee-line for the door. (It didn’t occur to me that it could have been a crazy person ready to knife me on the other side of the door, but at this stage curiosity just got the better of me.)
Turns out it was Peter, the guy who lives downstairs.
Since he’s a builder he always leaves for work early, but from the agitated look on his face I suspected he wasn’t urgently inviting me down to his place for a croissant and a cup of tea.
He politely informed me that someone had decided to completely coat my (white) car in Valvoline Engine Oil.
Great.
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My first thought was, ‘Shit, I don’t remember pissing off John Laws.’
Then Peter asked if I had any enemies. The bittersweet thing about the situation was that through contemplating who could have done it, I realised I didn’t really have any enemies.
Well, okay a couple of whacked out ex-girlfriends, but that’s about it.
I kept thinking, Spider-Man has some pretty crazy enemies… Maybe the number plates confused the vandals. (Note to self: Time to get new number plates.)
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I looked around for any evidence, but all I could find was a bottle of engine oil in the dumpster and a greasy fingerprint on the car next to mine. Now, I don’t watch CSI, but I’m pretty sure the cops can find out what someone had for breakfast three weeks ago from testing DNA or fingerprints.
I called the local police station, which was closed. Great. Made me feel all safe and warm.
So I called the main line which put me through to a call-centre.
I explained to the woman on the phone that the ghost of Pro Hart had decided to decorate my car, and that it might be novel if the police come around and take a couple of samples of these oily fingerprints.
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She assured me that there was no way the cops would be coming around to take fingerprints because they had better things to do.
In trying to figure out who might have done it she asked “Do you owe anyone any money?” I said “I have a mortgage with Westpac – but wouldn’t they just send a letter if I missed a payment?”
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She then said “Well, what do you do for a living? Are you a judge? a lawyer? A politician?” I said, “No, I’m a cartoonist and a comedian!” to which she replied, “So it looks like someone couldn’t take a joke?”
Who’s the comedian here?
She asked if I’d like to file a report (whatever THAT does.) I said yes, and she proceeded to take down the details of the car, myself, my home, my starsign, and my favourite song.
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It was at that point that I wished I could have seen who did it and done a WEG. (ie. See the criminal in the act, draw a caricature of them from memory and give it to the constabulary who catch him 15 minutes later.) Sadly, no such luck.
So my next move was to check if I’d need to make an insurance claim since the oil had started stripping away the paint on the car.
Luckily for me, (and unluckily for him) my best mate happens to work for my insurance company. I gave him a call.. maybe forgetting that it was 5:20am – I just needed to check if I’d need photos, or if someone would actually need to see the car for me to make a claim.
He mumbled something about chickens costing $8.50 and went back to sleep.
Now I had to clean this shit off. But how? It’s oil. And I can’t drive with a windshield coated in Valvoline.
So I did what any normal person would do. I did an Ace Ventura and stuck my head out the window as I drove around Perth in the freezing wind at 5:30am, looking for a car wash.
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The BP carwash in North Perth was closed, so I headed to Northlands, where the carwash was .. closed. Until 8am.
I passed my mechanic’s in Balcatta while I was driving around – I considered pulling up and going “Hey Bill – Can you change my oil? I fink I done it wrong.” But sadly, he wasn’t there.
I ended up grabbing a broom, and scrubbing at the car with greywater from a tub nearby to clear the windscreen.
With little more visibility than Stevie Wonder, I found my way to the only 24 hour car wash in Perth that I knew of.
And wouldn’t you know it, it was closed.
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