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No shame in my car wash game


I loved the condescending look I received from the car wash attendant after declining his more expensive "DELUXE CLEANING PACKAGE WITH ADDED WHEEL SHINE" this afternoon. Not willing to accept my rejection, the very persistent salesman/attendant dramatically leaned away from the side of my car to gain a better vantage point. Now that he could fully view the exterior of the plague I drove into his establishment, he glanced down at my tires with a look of disgust, pointed at them with his professional shaming finger and said, "Are you sure you don't want us to tackle THOSE wheels?"

He stood there outside of my car with his arms crossed, as if he had some sort of alpha advantage over my meek position in the driver's seat. He gripped his little window chalk pencil confidently, fully prepared to scribble a "D" (for deluxe) on my windshield to indicate his success (and also to let the staff know which cleaning package I selected). It occurred to me that the presence of my blemished vehicle probably depreciated the value of the other vehicles in line at the car wash with me but I was not willing to back down or be intimidated. I looked up at the smug attendant and replied in my usual blonde bubbly tone "No, thank you"....but what I really wanted to say, and in a much more indignant tone, was:

"DUDE, stick your over-sized pompous head in this window and have a look at the REAL catastrophe. The inside of my car looks like a crime scene. There are rainbow sprinkles (evidence of the nutritious breakfast I serve at the bus stop) stockpiled in the seams of the seats and jammed into the seat belt mechanisms. The floor is covered in playground shrapnel and debris from countless playdates at the park-rocks, twigs, leaves, and once living creatures that either climbed off of my tiny passengers and couldn't survive the conditions inside my car or were mashed into the bottom of shoes and now claim the floorboards as their final resting place. There's a melted crayon on the back seat as well as what appears to be an explosion of craft supplies, specifically glitter and glue. The snotty handprints and saliva smears on the windows make it appear that a colony of trolls were once held hostage here and tried to escape. The dashboard, seats, floor and virtually every surface in my car is coated with enough of my own blonde hair to fashion a wig for Rapunzel. On the rare occasion when I find myself transporting an adult passenger, I have to issue a warning that there is a 90% chance they may come into contact with a half eaten lollipop and exit my vehicle with it stuck in their hair or on some part of their body that will go undiscovered until the most inopportune and embarrassing moment. The inside of my car has seen tears, vomit, chaos, combat and forgotten sippy cups whose contents now qualify as nuclear waste....so NO, I don't want shiny wheels, Mr. Car Wash Attendant (whose name tag I couldn't read through my toddler smudged sunglasses), I just want to get it clean enough so I can remember if I have leather or cloth seats under the aftermath of these cherished memories. Now scribble that scarlet letter of shame (R for regular) on my windshield and let me be on my way"


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