It had numerous dings and nicks and a spider-like crack coming from the right side across my line of vision.
Even my 7-year-old granddaughter has asked about it.
"How do you see where you're driving?" she wanted to know. "You should get that fixed, gramma."
The problem with windshields is that nice, clean new ones attract rocks and foreign objects.
I can drive around with one cluttered with holes that have been fixed by the nice guys at the car wash for years.
But once I have a clear view of the sky I just know it'll be trouble.
However, I also knew it was just a matter of time before it wouldn't pass the safety inspection any more.
(It passed it fine last year and the year before that but I guess this is my lucky year.)
This time, the auto repair guy took my keys and car away and came back about an hour later with a bill and a paper with a big REJECTED printed on it.
I looked at it. Somehow it seemed like overkill.
Couldn't they show some respect and just say — in a regular size font — "We think you need a new windshield, please."
It seems like enough punishment to have to pay a couple of hundred dollars and have to sidle back and forth between the inspection station and the replacement garage.
Why shame me as well?
The guy at the counter sympathized as I looked at the paper.
"You ought to see it on the screen," he said helpfully. "The REJECTED part is in big pink letters."