Keep the Change?

BY Kelly Blainey

I get this feeling of dread when I get stuck at a red light at a big intersection. The Windscreen Washers come over, squeegee in hand, staring questioningly into my car, and I feel uneasy. Is it just me, or is there a certain type of person who goes into paroxysms of guilt when faced with that age-old question – to pay or not to pay?

There is also the question of how much to give them. What’s an honest living worth these days? How many screens an hour do they wash? How many hours? To work out a fair rate of pay in the ten seconds you have before the light changes is enough to drive even the most peak-hour-savvy driver mad.

I recently said no to a Washer who proceeded to wash my windscreen anyway. In a rather unscientific poll, I decided to ask colleagues, friends and uni buddies for their take on the Washers.

My colleagues were firm: No. “I never pay them,” said Daniel. “I don’t know what they’re going to spend the money on.”

“They look kinda scary… I never pay them,” Annie agreed.

“If I need my windscreen washed, I’ll do it myself,” Andrew and Kate both told me.

Doesn’t anyone say yes to these guys?

“I do,” said Adam, self-confessed hippie. “But I think that’s because I try to avoid confrontation. I can’t say no to anyone.” Mary, his wife, always pays them too, even if the windscreen doesn’t need washing. That’s because she just loves to give.

I was seeing a pattern emerging. Apparently only the hippies and softies say yes. Everyone else is either too scared or too stubborn to let the Washers have a cent of their hard-earned money.

This wasn’t about whether a windscreen is dirty or not. It was about ideology.

When that Washer accosted me at the lights, I shook my head no but he lifted up my wipers anyway. I said “No” again, and he stared at me defiantly before soaping up my windscreen, clouding my vision. The right-turn arrow turned green. The cars were banked up behind me. I had no choice.

I emptied out my purse and gave him all the coins I had, before screeching off from the intersection. Driving along, I grew angry with myself. Why wasn’t I stronger? Why did I pay him for something I didn’t want? And then I redirected my anger: why can’t men understand the word “No”?

I arrived at my destination and realised I had given him all my parking change. I was about to explode. How dare he, and why hadn’t I… Only to discover that some nice person had left their spot with an hour to go on the meter. I was safe.

So maybe the hippies and the softies have it right. If I hadn’t given the Washer all my change, would that parking meter still have been full? Maybe it was just my intersection karma.