Wrangler Dani

I’ve always wondered why we have Car Wash Guys. I mean, I got my own car wash number out of the gas pump (I poked the button for “Yes! I want the Cheap Car Wash!”) but when I pull up in front of it, Car Wash Guy comes out, says Hola, takes my ticket, enters the number for me and idly swipes a soapy brush over my wheels.

This all seems sort of pointless, right? Are we that desperate for minimum wage jobs that we have to employ Car Wash Guy to run an automated Car Wash?

Today, my friends, I repent of such thoughts.

I’m sitting in line on my lunch break, listening to Dr Laura try desperately to get some poor soul to quit screwing around and see the light, and idly watching the giant SUV in front of me get sprayed with water by a neon blue pole. I’m sort of bored, to be honest, and I’m just starting to dig under my seat in hopes of a stray piece of gum when I hear it.

A sickening, resounding, automatic-car-wash-generated CRACK.

Followed soon after by the howl of the very upset owner of said giant SUV, whose passenger-side mirror was smashed by said neon blue pole, and is now in several pieces and hanging limply from the side of an otherwise clean car. (The mirror, not the driver. I don’t anyone thinking that automatic car washes are the latest in a long list of Things that Cause Bodily Harm, although, leak this blog to any nightly news and it’ll make the cut, I promise.)

The Car Wash Guy is running back and forth, picking up pieces of mirror off the ground and attempting to placate SUV Driver in broken English, all the while pointing to the “We’re not responsible for anything, you paid four dollars for an automatic car wash, get over it,” sign, putting bits of plastic gingerly on the passenger seat, and getting the heck out ASAP.

Finally a very unhappy SUV Driver leaves, and Car Wash Guy comes over to take my ticket, smiling beatifically. “Um,” I don’t know quite how to say this.. “So, should I adjust my mirrors inward?…” I kinda shrug at him, trying to avoid the impulse to reach up and kiss my poor truck’s dash for good luck.

Car Wash Guy laughs at my trepidation and shakes his head. “No, no. He no leesten to me. I say, move over! He keep goin’.” He winks at me and takes my ticket. “I say you OK, you OK.”

I am OK. Rocky still has both mirrors and looks fabulous – and, some to think of it, I’m pretty sure the soapy brush on the wheels DID help. Keep on truckin’, Car Wash Guy. You have my newfound respect.