The roller coaster from you-know-where

BDN column for 1-13-11


My car needed a good cleaning, and when it was 60 degrees on a January day, who was I to say no?

The car wash place was a full-service automatic type. I couldn't get out and wash my own car if I wanted to, which I kind of did. But I got in line with other 423,987,429 vehicles (OK, so I exaggerate) awaiting their turn.

Clueless as to how this luxury treatment worked, my blood pressure skyrocketing from the stress, I did what any clueless blonde would do. Played dumb.

Watching the car in front of me, I pulled to the same little window and waited until the girl inside couldn't take the awkward silence anymore.

"What kind of wash do you want?"

Kind? What did she mean kind? I just wanted a gun that shoots water.

Feeling like an underdressed second-cousin at a hotel wedding, I chose the most basic option in hopes of escaping quick, handed her my cash and was ready to move on.

"Do you want a towel with that," the obviously irritated teen asked between bubblegum pops.

Towel? What the heck do I need a towel for?

I saw the car in front of me take the towel option. So I took one too.

In second-grade, single-file fashion I followed the car in front of me around a curve where we stopped to await our turn near the entrance of what looked more like a cattle barn than a car wash.

The driver ahead began using their towel to wipe down every hard surface in her tiny coupe.

Oh, so that's what the towel's for.

After my dash got a good wipe down, it was my turn to enter. My excitement mounted as the two high-school aged boys began waving me in their direction.

Giving the universal signs for pull forward, keep coming, and a little to the left, I got my car situated right where he wanted it.

Using the only car washing tool I recognized in the place, a gun that shoots water, to give my car a good prewash, he then directed me to pull forward a bit more, a little to the right and STOP!

Unfortunately, I was so excited by the royal treatment I was receiving, I got distracted and forgot to watch the car in front of me as they entered "the barn."

So I sat and sat and sat, trying not to make that awkward eye contact with the kid with the hose outside.

Ka-thump, ka-thump. My car rocked a bit and in complete fear, I sprawled my arms out as if Godzilla was about to rise from below and eat my Jeep, with me inside.

I looked to the "hose guy" outside for help. After giggling a bit, he mouthed something I couldn't comprehend.

"Brake," another teen yelled from behind me.

Oh, shoot! While I had put my car in park, I forgot to take my foot off the brake. Was that what he wanted?

Apparently not. The "hose guy" gave another universal symbol — roll your window down — and hollered, "put it in neutral and keep your hands and feet free!"

Double shoot. This place needed instruction manuals, not towels.

I shifted into neutral as the Godzilla teeth below once again began to chop.

Buzz, buzz, wooohooo, buzz, buzz, wooohooo!

Alarms of all kinds started ringing, and the whole system stopped.

This one called for a bit more than "shoot," as I had apparently put the whole order of things out of sync with my little mess-up.

After a quick reset by the "hose guy," my car lunged into action like a roller coaster from you-know-where. Resisting the urge to steer and completely against my will at this point, I entered the black, soapy abyss.

I began to wonder if this was how it would all end for me. Girl found dead in fetal position on floor board. Cause of death, car wash related stress.

But then I saw it. Out of the deep, dark, soapy bowels of the beast, there was a light — and a roaring blowdryer.

With a new outlook on life and a shiny Jeep, I made my way to the free vacuum station, which is a tale for another time.