Thank you, drive through.

This morning I got trapped in a gas station car wash.

Yep.

I have been ACHING to wash the crusty layer of dirt and ice slicer and other assorted winter crud off of the MUV of late, but there is no point if another round of snow is coming later that day to re-crustify it all anyway.

So today after I dropped Jr off at pre-school, I saw a gas station with no line at the car wash, (miracle I thought… perhaps it was really an ominous sign,) and pulled in to get ‘er done.

All was well, the wash’s arm started its second soapy pass around the Keri-mobile, and I settled in to read some email. (Did I mention I HATE car washes? They freak me the hell out. But so does the idea of leaning my favorite coat up against my dirty-ass car, so I distract myself while inside the necessary evil.)

Then I noticed how quiet things had become. I gave the wipers a swish to get a better view of what was happening, and it started to sink in.

The lights were all out.   The mechanical arm was stopped right at my front bumper. Soap and water dripped from the ceiling into the puddles on the floor, making plopping noises in the creepy quiet

I *may* have yelled out “HELLO!! I AM TRAPPED IN YOUR JANKY FU*KING CARWASH, ASSES!!!”

Panic set in – the doors weren’t moving… It was all steamy and soapy smelling and dark.

HEE HEE HOOOOOO. HEE HEE HOOOOO. (At least that express childbirth class was good for something. Random panic breathing.)

I frantically googled the phone number for the gas station (what did we do before google, for serious people?)

No one answered the phone (stupid worthless google.)

I took a deep breath, opened the car door, and stepped out onto the floor of the car wash. I half-expected some sort of alarm to go off or something – you aren’t supposed to get OUT of your car in the car wash!!

Nope.

Instead all I got was a big steady trickle of soap down the front of my face and coat.

I followed the signage to the manual switch handle for the garage door in front of me, heaved open the door enough to get out, and walked to the front of the gas station.

The dude in line for the wash behind the closed back garage door honked. (I mean seriously. Ass.)

Mr Gas Station Man seemed not-at-all surprised to see my drowned-rat looking self coming toward the counter.

“The car wash just quit mid-cycle, and I was kinda trapped in there, and the arm is stuck in front of my jeep, and it’s all soapy, and I kinda so am I and….” (I was still panicked from my clearly harrowing experience in the tomb.)

“Oh yeah – I will give you a new code… I’ll reset it.’

WTF dude? I am TRAMATIZED here. Your carwash tried to eat me alive.

HELLO.

It took some convincing to get the guy in the front of the line (honker/ass) to let me punch in my new code so I could retrieve my car from inside the wash – and I admit I did NOT like it one bit when the doors both closed around me again.

Suddenly letting The Mr wash my car doesn’t seem so bad.

Does this shit actually happen to other people?

1 Comment

Filed under musing

One response to “Thank you, drive through.

  1. Pingback: HOORAY for 2015 | Reluctantly Suburban

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