As appeared in the Albuquerque Journal 02/14/09
The warmer weather earlier in the week left us longing for those warmer days of summer. It also made us take notice of how dirty the rain and snow has left our cars, not to mention the lone French fry I found in the back seat no doubt from 1999.
There are two kinds of people in the world: Those who wash their cars themselves and those who won’t. If you are the do-it-yourselfer, it breaks down further: Do you like to take your stack of quarters to the self-serve and use that big power wash wand? Or do you question why anyone would pay to wash their cars when they can get out the bottle of Palmolive, a bucket and put their thumb over the hose in their driveways?
One of the greatest adventures from early childhood was going to the car wash. I miss the kind where you actually get to sit in your car as it rolls through the different cycles. The kind that takes a full ten minutes; not the abbreviated drive-yourself-through types at the gas stations nowadays.
Our mom wouldn’t get the car washed unless she had a kid for every window. When she handed us each a rag on the way out the door, we knew where we were going. As she fed quarters into the machine under the “Not Responsible for Damage” sign at the entrance, she lined up the two front tires with the conveyor belts and we were good to go. The wash light flashed and bright pink suds spewed onto the windows and hood. Long commercial grade felt belts would sway back and forth, bending the antenna a little more every time as we thought for sure this would be the time it was going to snap off.
Once past the evil jaws of the felt monster, the rinse cycle rained down like a gentle summer shower. “Mom, turn on the windshield wipers. My door isn’t shut all the way. My window is leaking,” one or all three of us kids would shriek as the Country Squire wagon moved along at a snail’s pace as the inside sometimes seemed to get as wet as the outside. God love the seal on those American made cars of the 70s. “Are you sure you have it rolled up all the way? Hold that towel tighter,” she commanded. Heaven help the kid who sat solo in the back seat and had two windows to man.
The worst was when we had the dogs with us. I can’t recall why exactly Heidi and Simone were in tow, but a trip through the car wash was not one of their favorite rides. Was it torture on my mother’s part to get back at them for knocking the Raggedy Ann birthday cake off the counter and eating it before the party? Leaking windows, wailing dogs and a frantic mother – gosh, I miss those kinds of car washes.
Nowadays you can get more than a car wash at a car wash. In California, the land of “you are what you drive,” the car wash industry exists on a highly elevated level. Feeling a little tight? How about a massage while you wait for your Bimmer? Shoes need a shine, have a seat. How about a mocha latte and biscotti while you wait? So much for peanut butter crackers, fur steering wheel covers, greeting cards and pine tree air fresheners.
Personally, I prefer the Wonder (woman) Wash self-serve on NM528 to get my Jeep clean. The French fry is gone and I once again have a clean car. That is until the next trip to Sonic.
Quote of the Week: ““Well, those cars never seem to stop coming. Keep those rags and machines humming. Work my fingers to the bone. Can't wait till it's time to go home.” – Car Wash by Rose Royce
The warmer weather earlier in the week left us longing for those warmer days of summer. It also made us take notice of how dirty the rain and snow has left our cars, not to mention the lone French fry I found in the back seat no doubt from 1999.
There are two kinds of people in the world: Those who wash their cars themselves and those who won’t. If you are the do-it-yourselfer, it breaks down further: Do you like to take your stack of quarters to the self-serve and use that big power wash wand? Or do you question why anyone would pay to wash their cars when they can get out the bottle of Palmolive, a bucket and put their thumb over the hose in their driveways?
One of the greatest adventures from early childhood was going to the car wash. I miss the kind where you actually get to sit in your car as it rolls through the different cycles. The kind that takes a full ten minutes; not the abbreviated drive-yourself-through types at the gas stations nowadays.
Our mom wouldn’t get the car washed unless she had a kid for every window. When she handed us each a rag on the way out the door, we knew where we were going. As she fed quarters into the machine under the “Not Responsible for Damage” sign at the entrance, she lined up the two front tires with the conveyor belts and we were good to go. The wash light flashed and bright pink suds spewed onto the windows and hood. Long commercial grade felt belts would sway back and forth, bending the antenna a little more every time as we thought for sure this would be the time it was going to snap off.
Once past the evil jaws of the felt monster, the rinse cycle rained down like a gentle summer shower. “Mom, turn on the windshield wipers. My door isn’t shut all the way. My window is leaking,” one or all three of us kids would shriek as the Country Squire wagon moved along at a snail’s pace as the inside sometimes seemed to get as wet as the outside. God love the seal on those American made cars of the 70s. “Are you sure you have it rolled up all the way? Hold that towel tighter,” she commanded. Heaven help the kid who sat solo in the back seat and had two windows to man.
The worst was when we had the dogs with us. I can’t recall why exactly Heidi and Simone were in tow, but a trip through the car wash was not one of their favorite rides. Was it torture on my mother’s part to get back at them for knocking the Raggedy Ann birthday cake off the counter and eating it before the party? Leaking windows, wailing dogs and a frantic mother – gosh, I miss those kinds of car washes.
Nowadays you can get more than a car wash at a car wash. In California, the land of “you are what you drive,” the car wash industry exists on a highly elevated level. Feeling a little tight? How about a massage while you wait for your Bimmer? Shoes need a shine, have a seat. How about a mocha latte and biscotti while you wait? So much for peanut butter crackers, fur steering wheel covers, greeting cards and pine tree air fresheners.
Personally, I prefer the Wonder (woman) Wash self-serve on NM528 to get my Jeep clean. The French fry is gone and I once again have a clean car. That is until the next trip to Sonic.
Quote of the Week: ““Well, those cars never seem to stop coming. Keep those rags and machines humming. Work my fingers to the bone. Can't wait till it's time to go home.” – Car Wash by Rose Royce
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