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Monday, August 02, 2004

The Story Of The Sticking Window (Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love WD-40)

I opened my window this weekend. Daft move. I'm very anti-window opening. I live on the South Circular. The South Circular is noisy. Opening your window when you live on the South Circular is likely to bring about madness, and a desire to shoot anyone who thinks it's cool to have their radio bass up so loud that it cures kidney stones.

But it was so hot this weekend that opening the window and letting in some air seemed like a sensible thing to do.

As the window had not been opened for a year, it was rather tough to prise the damn thing open. But eventually I managed it. In flowed polluted air and the sound of sirens, car radios, and rowing partners.

As I contemplated the very real possibility that I would be defeaned by the sounds of Missy Elliott, I realised that opening the window had been a critical mistake. I should have just sweated to death. It would have been less painful.

The gravity of mistake became clear when I tried to close the window. I couldn't. It was sticking. It would not shut. I felt around for obstructions. There were none. I tried sheer force. Unsuccessful. After consultation with my parents, I tried jiggling the lock lever. Nothing. I eventually gave up and fell asleep, listening to the sound of London's emergency services, and contemplating the joy of approaching my landlord to tell him I had broken my window (I thought the whole "I broke my fridge" thing had been the height of embarrassment, but breaking a window would top it.)

On Sunday, I awoke with one remaining hope: WD-40. It had been suggested by my mum. It was, to be honest, my last hope.

I hotfooted it to Woolworths, and tried not to look too out of place in the DIY department (probably unsuccessful.)

Rushing home, I sprayed the substance liberally, and tried not to inhale too much of the fumes which kept being blown into my flat. I left it to work whatever magic it's meant to work. Half an hour, and a failed Grand Theft Auto mission later, I tried to shut the window. Nothing. This was becoming serious.

I decided that more WD-40 would probably do the trick. Lots more. As much as I could face spraying (my flat was starting to smell of nothing but the stuff, and my head was starting to hurt.) Again, I left it to do its magic (translation: I had a bash at a few more GTA missions.)

About 45 minutes later, I attempted to shut the window. Nothing. Still sticking. I then tried a great combination: brute force and WD-40. Success! A shut window! No more really loud live music from the Tulse Hill Tavern for me! No, now it was just the annoying beat and the sound of my dripping tap! Bliss!

So all hail WD-40. I don't know how it did it.

2 Comments:

  • At 5:39 PM, Blogger Fizzwhizz said…

    My boyfriend swears by WD40 for pretty much every purpose. Occasionally he takes it upon himself to spray it liberally all over my bicycle (him: "I'm just doing the moving parts, honey, it'll keep the water out" me: "but honey, are you sure it's sfe to put it on the brakes") so that for the next six months I get black swears all over my clothes every time I go near it. I think he also believes WD40 can cure all illnesses.

     
  • At 5:50 PM, Blogger McReadie said…

    Ba ha ha - I have to say, I was sceptical, but now I am a total convert :)

    Maybe I should put it on my bike, too...

    (I already get black marks every time I ride it - I suspect the mechanic who recently checked it over also believes in the power of "The 40"!)

     

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