The Ghost of Baron Smudge

You wouldn’t think it to look at it but even the best of things comes with inherent provisoes. I speak of my aeronautical device the Lincoln Aviator. The windshield has a smudge. It’s a mostly invisible tiny blur right in my line of vision. Indeed not to put too fine a point on it the smudge excels in the mercurial quality of visibility. The mad particular about it is that, after having identified the ghost of an imprint, I have expended every possible treatment from Windex to windshield wiper fluid to lighter fluid to “Goo Gone” (removes sticky, gummy, gooey messes) but all without success.

My latest endeavour today was to call Lincoln Heights dealership.  I spoke with Kelly, a seasoned Service Department advisor. Initially she reported not having heard of defects within the glass but then corrected herself and said it would entail taking photographs and sending them to Ford Motor Company (presumably for warranty coverage). In the meantime Kelly suggested they could try removing the smudge in the event it were superficial only.  We agreed that I attend the dealership immediately for this purpose, a deeply welcome accommodation.

Kelly did her best.  She applied an exotic in-house spray or liquid onto a cloth then wiped the windshield area (inside and out) where we “thought” the smudge was.  Laughably when sitting in the service bay at the dealership I was unable to locate the smudge. I tried looking at the windshield in the direction of the open air beyond the large garage door; then into the windshield towards the garage wall (to quell the brightness from outdoors). Nothing worked.  Though we wildly conjectured Kelly was successful in her endeavours, I was nonetheless reluctant.  Sure enough as soon as I drove away – I wasn’t even off the property – the ineffable smudge reappeared with mocking vibrancy!

As I drove over the property line of the dealership onto the public roadway my mind spoke to me, “Listen to your instincts!” it said. Now it may surprise those of you who know me and subscribe to the belief that I am hopelessly obsessive (and I don’t deny that I am) but my intuition is for whatever reason to leave the smudge alone.