The Death Star

The Cathedral has a car it makes available to certain, select staff members for personal use. The car is a white Subaru stationwagon, circa 1988 or 1989. It's totally and completely awesome.

It usually takes about three or four attempts to start.
The locks don't work.
There is no air conditioning.

Yesterday, Fr. Bob asked if I would accompany him on an errand, which I agreed to do. We got in the affectionately-named Death Star, amidst prayers for safe return from the Guest House's front desk clerk, Jerius.

As we are pulling toward the narrow gate to the Cathedral close, Feried (who prefers to be called Alfred) and who cleans the Cathedral and tends security, waves furiously at us, stepping in front of the car to stop us:

"Father, Father. It is too dirty. It is too dirty. You cannot go like that!"

He makes us get out of the car so he can spray it down with the hose, ridding it of two or three days of sand and dust.

This is not just a quick wash, either. He is taking painstaking care in making sure every crevis is washed off. Then he starts taking the car matts out of the car to spray them off.

I'm now laughing pretty hard.

The car barely runs. One is never sure it will get you to a destination or will die a beastly death on the side of the road...taking you with it because, let's be honest, Palestinian and Israeli drivers are impatient and don't necessarily stop for objects in their way.

But by God! It will be clean!

The Death Star in the morning light