You people and visible transmittance

When my OCD collides with the ADHD that surrounds me, I sometimes resort to name calling.

I’m not proud of it, but if I’m being completely honest – and New South Essays is nothing if not 100% truthful at all times without exaggeration – I will occasionally throw out a “you people” toward my Darling Beloved and my youngest offspring.

As in, “You people need to put your dishes in the dishwasher.” Or, “You people never take the dogs out.” And one of my favorites, “You people always leave stuff on the steps rather than taking it up (or down) and putting it away.”

See? That’s how “you people” works.

This tends to happen when I’m short on sleep, low on caloric intake, hyper focused on completing my to-do list or called upon for simple favors when I happen to be standing up, as in “While you’re up, can you make me a bowl of popcorn.”

I’m learning from the internet that this really isn’t unusual. Lots of people in the world feel put upon by their closest family members because their own mental illness makes them more inclined to do stuff that is usually construed as helpful by their cohabitants.

Exercise any strength past the point of practicality and it can become a weakness, but rather than be annoyed at these wonderful and beautiful individuals I profess to love, I should count it a blessing to derive satisfaction and meaning from showing my love through acts of service. There’s really no room for “you people” in this love language.

For now, though, I still break out a withering “you people” at my low moments. For the record, this never helps

There has been a recent confluence of needs by my housemates that seemingly only I can address. It definitely elicited a “you people.” This latest battleground is the windshield of their respective vehicles.

Within relatively quick succession I found myself riding with my Darling Beloved and my youngest son. In both cases, the helpful little dashboard alert “washer fluid low” illuminated. I delicately probed each of the parties in separate interrogations and learned that they share a habit that I would never have contemplated in a million years: Each time they get into their car to go anywhere, they clean their windshield.

This “splash and go” or, as Carla called it, a “spritz and go,” rapidly depletes their supply of washer fluid. Both Carla and Carlton said they like to have a clean windshield before they go somewhere because they like to see clearly all obstacles in their way (cue “I Can See Clearly Now” by Johnny  Nash… You’re welcome.)

But I’m like… “Wut… Why would you people do this?” (see how it just slips out?)

I typically replenish our supply of washer fluid at the AutoZone around the corner, but on account I do the grocery shopping, I have discovered of late that our local grocer now carries washer fluid in three scientifically calibrated formulas known as “blue,” “green” and “orange.”

While refilling their reservoirs without the aid of a funnel, I splashed blue liquid all over the engine manifold and maybe uttered a few “you peoples” under my breath. I did pause for a moment of contemplation and self reflection.

Maybe I am the weird one because I almost never perform a “spritz and go.” I park my vehicle outdoors under a tree. This causes all manner of debris and copious amounts of avian excrement to be deposited on the front, and sometimes side, and even rear windows. I don’t like driving around in this state because it’s not a good look.

When the aesthetics of my car’s windshields becomes too off-putting, I will allow .0000764 milliliters of washer fluid to escape onto my front or back window for the windshield wipers to smear everything around and create a truly impenetrable mixture. It measures 0.0000001 on the visible transmittance scale and is supremely unhelpful. This just serves to reinforce my bias against the splash and go, and I tell myself that the washer fluid doesn’t help. This circular logic is the reason why I never try to wash my windshield.

I, of course, back out of the driveway and go about my business, commuting or running errands, blissfully unaware of such visual details around me like the presence of clouds in the sky, the color of leaves on the trees, the traffic signal turning from yellow to read, or other vehicles on the road.

My Darling Beloved believes this is a dangerous practice. When she is with me, she will reach over, unbidden mind you, and turn my wiper lever so that the precious liquid sprays indiscriminately over my windshield and frightens me with sudden conditions that mimic driving through a thunderstorm.

“How can you see anything through this windshield?” she will say.

“I can see just fine, thank you.”

I have owned my vehicle since 2023. I think I have refilled the washer fluid exactly one time. We’ve had both my Darling Beloved’s and my youngest’s vehicles for less than a year, and I’ve refilled their washer fluid exactly 9,328 times each.

Hence the “you people” when the both of these windshield washer types needed fluid at the exact same moment.

As I age and grow in self awareness and sophistication, I am learning that it may be that I am the one with the problem. Perhaps it is better to be able to see out of one’s windshield while operating a motor vehicle. Rather than express exasperation with the “you peoples” in my life, I should be grateful that they desire safety and cleanliness.

Besides, washer fluid is way cheaper than gas these days. I don’t have to treat it like a precious substance.

Maybe if I cleaned my glasses more often, I could see that my windshield was dirty.