I hadn't been doing much driving, so the Forester had spent a good chunk of the rainy/snowy spring week relaxing in my driveway. Finally, it came time to pick up a birthday dinner — Indian food, curbside to-go. As soon as I sat down, I noticed something new: a small crack in the windshield. That fix will have to wait until more businesses reopen. As I eased out of my driveway, another issue emerged. I heard what sounded like water sloshing. Braking for the stop sign at the end of my street … yep, definitely liquid. It sounded like it was below or in front of me.
Later, I was parked in the alley behind the restaurant waiting for my order, and I accidentally dropped my phone down into the black hole on the righthand side of my seat. I reached down and groped for it, but instead of a rectangular personal computer, my fingers found nothing but carpet, seemingly soaked to capacity. My first instinct was to use a disinfectant wipe on my wet digits, but then I got out to inspect the underside of my seat from the second row. There was my phone, sitting in a fabric swamp under the seat.
