At the Car Wash

Today I had 30 minutes to kill whilst I waited for The Lovely to do some banking. Actually, it ended up being more like an hour, but I knew I had 30 minutes for sure. Not enough time to drive out to the lake, which I have been itching to do for a few days now, and obviously not enough time to get in a nap.

: )

So I decided to go to the car wash.

Now, you might not know it to look at me, but when it comes to washing my car, I am this totally ultra-femme girlie-grrl: In other words, I have no desire to get out and actually wash — or as they might say in this town, warsh — my car. When I wash/warsh my car, I want to do it from the comfort of my car.

Which means automatic car washes for me, baby. Preferably ones with attendants, too, so that when I don’t have the correct change, someone is there to save my sorry ass.

I have had some issues with certain car washes, too. I have an ugly black smudge on the front left bumper from the nasty car wash out by Booger King; matter of fact, I completely avoid all of those places where you have to drive your car onto any kind of track, as I apparently am incapable of navigating my way through them.

I also have an issue with my driver’s side window: It leaks. It has always leaked. Probably, if it had been the one to get shattered by that rock last summer instead of the passenger-side window, it would no longer leak because I would have gotten a new window ... but, it didn’t; and, I didn’t; so, it still does. Which means I have to whip out the Kleenex every time the high-powered spray comes by or end up with a completely soaked seat belt and left shoulder.

Trouble is, the fully automatic car wash takes about 10 minutes, tops, and I had 30 minutes to kill. Plus, truthfully, there are times when you want more from a car wash; in other words, the birds in my ’hood have been hitting the mulberries pretty hard, which means their daily target practice on my car has taken on a definitely more, uhm, colorful tone.

I decided to check out my town’s newest car wash: The Dirtbuster!

It is located only two doors down from my regular car wash, on West Main Street. And I wasn’t too keen on washing my car right out on Main Street, but ... what the heck, anyone could see my car needed a good washin’/warshin’.

I crammed a $5 bill into the slot: 20 minutes. Perfect, considering I had spent at least 5 minutes deciding where to wash my car!

I put my car through the cycles: Pre-soak, tire cleaner, wash, rinse, tri-something or other (some kind of pleasant-smelling foamy stuff that spurted out of a little handgun-looking thingie), rinse, clear-coat, rinse and the spot-free rinse. Everything but the foamy brush. (I’ve heard that evil rocks can lurk in the bristles of the foamy brush. Avoid at all costs, or risk the ultimate peril!)

Midway through the second rinse cycle, I decided I was liking this car wash action. With my spraying wand, I felt a little like The Terminator, obliterating all the baked-on bird shit splotches and bug guts — well, until I would get tangled up in the hose that followed me and my weapon ’round and ’round the bay. I held the tri-something sprayer with two hands, Vic Mackey style, like I was bustin’ in on some gangstahs or sum’m sum’m (or however it’s spellt).

I must admit, ’twas kinda fun!

Plus my car looks awesome for the 24 hours or so after a good cleansing. Oh, it won’t last: I don’t have a garage ... which has always been my reasoning for not washing my car more often, ’cause it’s just gonna get messed up again, anyway ... which, actually, is all the more reason to wash it even more often than if I did keep it in a garage, now that I think about it.

Who knows, I had so much fun today, I might start going to the car warsh more often.

: )