This is what my car looked like this morning:
Yep. Covered in bird poop. My very mean husband makes me park on the street because my car leaks a little oil, and he doesn’t want it to leak on our new driveway. So, every spring when the birds return to our trees and have babies, they poop all over my car. It’s super embarrassing because I have to drive to work with my poop-covered car, and everyone sees it and thinks, “Ew, why doesn’t Becca ever get her car washed?” (This is not the worst its ever been, either.)
Well, there are two reasons for that:
- The car wash is not open before I go to work.
- I can’t ever go back to the car wash.
If you know me in real life, you know that my driving skills aren’t exactly above average. Some (my sister) might say they aren’t even average. Either way, there’s no denying I’m not the best driver.
Whenever I go to the car wash, I get really nervous right before it’s my turn. When waiting in line at the car wash by my house, the cars are in a curved line, and you don’t have the chance to really straighten out until it’s your turn to pull up.
So of course, when it’s my turn I’m all anxious about straightening out so that I get onto the tracks correctly. I’m very afraid of doing it wrong and getting stuck. The guys directing at the front of the line always help, telling me to point my wheels one way, then the other, then the other again, and then telling me to take my foot off the break. They’re great.
The last time I went to get a car wash, it was a super sunny day and the line snaked around the entrance. As I entered the mouth of the car wash, the usual wheel-turning, direction-giving took place, but when I put my car into neutral, it would sort of shift forward, but then back again.
I looked to the car wash man for direction. He gestured for me to put it back into drive and pull forward a little bit. So I did.
The car started moving forward. I breathed a sigh of relief as my car started to get sudsed up. All was going swimmingly; the car was just moving into the mop part– you know what I mean by that, right?
And then it did it again: my car sort of shifted forward, but didn’t actually go anywhere. I started wildly looking around for someone to direct me. Except there was no one there. I was stuck in the middle of the car wash!
This is what went through my head in the following thirty seconds or so:
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Where is the man?!
This is it. This is how I die. How would I even get out of here?
I think these things would knock me over. I’ll never escape!
Where is the man?!
What if the car behind me is still moving?!
And then everything stopped. The water stopped. The mop-thing stopped. I spun around to see if the car behind me was moving. I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t see anything. I was in the middle of the mop-thing, mop-tentacles still laying across my car.
I was starting to panic. I turned around and, pressing my face up against the window, continued searching for the man who worked there to save me. Still no one.
What is happening?
Is anyone going to come make sure I’m okay?
And then the mortifying realization:
Oh my God. This is my fault.
Suddenly, the car wash man appeared. I rolled down my window, eager to hear how he was going to get me out of this dire situation.
“Put your car in drive and move forward a little.” And then he walked away!
I followed his directions, though, and inched forward. I looked back in the direction the man had walked, and could see him watching me. I inched forward a little more. Everything went back into motion. I put my car back into neutral.
Shift. Forward. Shift. Backward. It was happening again.
Shit. Oh my God. What do I do? Keep driving?
I shifted into drive and inched forward once again. And I kept inching forward, my foot hovering and lightly tapping the accelerator. I wasn’t sure how fast I should go, since the car still needed to be rinsed and dried. I was so nervous that I was going too fast, or too slow, or that I was going to break the whole freakin’ thing. Again.
So when I finally got to the dryer portion, I said Fuck it, and flew out of that car wash.
I can never go back there again. I thought as I sped down the block. Steve will have to take my car when the birds start pooping on it again. And anytime my car gets dirty for the rest of our lives.
And I haven’t been back since. Even though my car was covered in bird shit.
Yes, I realize they probably wouldn’t even recognize me, but in my head, everyone there will remember me as the girl who couldn’t straighten her car out, and stopped the whole car wash, and then ran away with her car still dripping wet.
On the bright side, my wonderful husband is taking my car to get washed as I write this. Because he loves me, and doesn’t want me driving around in a car covered in poop.
I guess the moral of the story is that you have two options in life:
- Be a good driver.
- Find someone who will take your car to the car wash for you.