Car Wash

Close to 16th Street and Greenway, up a dirt road there is a small mound of dirt, cactus, and rock that someone named Lookout Mountain. This hill is used by people in Arizona for hiking. Lookout Mountain has many paths heading in all directions. The scenery is blah, unless you are hiking at sunrise or sunset then the scenery is beautiful. Two paths on either side of the hill lead to the top of the hill. One path I nicknamed “sure I want to die…go ahead stop my heart” the other is "I want to live! I want to live!”…Trails. The mountain is made up of decomposed garnet, crumbly pieces of rock that make even the experience hiker fall one or twice during a walk. "Hey! Sparky want to go to Lookout Mountain before we go to the car wash?" He just tilted his head to the right and wagged his tail.

"I take that as a yes."

I turned on 16 Street and drove up the dirt road. Before I could park and shut of the engine, my black lab had leaped over the tailgate and was in hot pursuit of a short ear rabbit. He loves to chase rabbits, coyotes, and kits. I grabbed my backpack and started my hike without him.

“Sparky! Don’t knock me over you big old dog! This trail is hard enough to walk on without you clipping my legs!” Sparky ignored me and ran ahead sniffing and tagging everything that didn't move. "Damn, the sun is already coming up, we'll have to hurry id we want to see the sunrise."

It was 6 o'clock and already it was 99 degrees a typical summer morning for Arizona. I was already hot and over heated.
"Damn desert!"

I took Sparky up the side of the hill that offered the most shade for his and my sack. That trail was interesting...a skinny coyote ducked behind a bush. Off my dog went, I felt sorry for the beast, having to use his reserve energy to avoid my dog. Some minutes later, Sparky rejoined me all out of breath and panting. I poured water into a small plastic bowl so he could drink.

"No body told you to chase that miserable creature, when will you learn that you can’t catch Coyotes or rabbits?" At the summit, I sat on a small boulder to catch my breath and watch the rest of the sunrise. Off in the distance I could see several hot air balloons floating toward us. They looked like black holes, tears in the sky made by langolears. I thought of Steven King, he wrote a book about the earth being eaten up by langolears. I wonder if his idea for the story came from watching hot air balloons. Sparky lay down beside me and I reached out and stroked his panting body.

“You’re a handsome dog, yes you are Sparky.” My next thought was about journalists and reporters how they ruin people’s lives with sensational reporting. Reporters irritate me...why do they ask and say such stupid things? Has journalism always been reporting bad news? I think so, poor Princes Diana. As the morning grew lighter the hot air balloons became more visible. I could see the gondolas and the people inside them. The balloons looked like floating flowerpots, all of them were brightly colored. As they came closer to us I could hear the blast value opening and closing. Sparky didn’t know what to think of the balloons so barked at them. Then he jumped into the air trying to grab the balloons.

"You silly dog, you can't get that balloon!" I wonder where the toilet is it one of those things? Do birds sit on top of the balloon?

“I don’t like heights Sparky, I don’t think I’d like riding in a balloon especially with a full bladder.” Sparky nudged me with his nose.

“What’s up big guy? You want to go now? Again he smiled and wagged his tail. “All right, all right, I'm moving!”

I got off the rock and started walking down hill slipping several times and falling on my hands. "Damn Arizona!"

The sun was up in all its glory baking everything it's rays hit. The temperature jumped to 105degrees and rising. I poured the remaining water over my dogs fur.

“Does that fill better Sparky? Ready to go?” I lowered the tailgate on my truck and Sparky jumped in.

In my rearview mirror I watched Lookout Mountain get smaller and smaller as I drove away. I headed north on 16th Street, passed over Union Street and continued on for the hell of it until the road dead-ended.

“Hay! Sparky! Look what I found! Another hill to explore! We’ll walk here tomorrow. Right now I need to find a car wash.” I turned around and headed west on Union Street. It wasn’t long before I found an unoccupied “do-it-your-self” car wash...just what I was looking for. I pulled in and drove up to the change machine and inserted two dollars. The last time I used a do-it-your-self car wash was in the late 70’s. Back then, in the good old days, it only cost 50 cents to wash your car. Fifty cents included everything. That was 20 years ago, today you have to mortgage your house to wash your car. After getting, my quarters I drove my truck into a washing stall and shut off the engine then secured all hatches. I walked to the back of my truck, made my apologies to Sparky, and shut the camper shell window. I reached into my pocket took out four quarters then I walked up to a metal box labeled Control Panel.

“What in the hell is this? I don’t want to send a rocket to the moon. All I want to do is wash my car.” The control panel had more buttons, knobs and switches then a flight simulator. Far to many chooses for my liking. I dropped four quarters into the coin slot; the clanging sound reminded me of cashing out in Las Vegas. For a moment I had a warm fuzzy feeling. Then I looked at the control panel and thought this is serious stuff. What do I select? Water, nozzle soap spray, foaming brush, high power, low power, take your paint off sprayer, clean your engine, etc.

“What button do I push?”

At the Car Wash

Some cars pulled into the stalls next to me. Another car pulled up behind me.

"Oh, great. That's all I need. Pressure!"

I felt as if everyone was waiting for me to get with the program. It was fight of flight time so I make a decision. I selected soapy spray nozzle. I walked over to the spray wane and removed it from the wall. I pointed it toward my truck, but nothing happened. I stood for the longest time waiting, feeling like an idiot, but still nothing happened.

“Come on you stupid thing! People are watching me!” I tried to look like I knew what I was doing. Still nothing happened…nothing came out of the nozzle! I was really embarrassed now, I wanted to get in my car and drive off and put this all behind me. But, if I drive away all these people will know I failed the car wash tribulation… so I stayed. Maybe the machine is broken? I hit it with my fist and yelled: “That dirty rotten machine took my quarters! What type of crummy place is this anyway?” With a bewilder expression I looked at the people in the cars behind me and shrugged my shoulders. I felt like Bambi’s mother before she was shot. Then I walked to the rear of my truck and noticed a foaming brush hanging on the wall across from me. Under the brush was the biggest pile of pink soapsuds you ever seen! I was so embarrassed I rushed over to the wall grabbed the foaming-brush and started washing my truck as if I meant to do that. I was half way through when the two-minute warning sounded. Beep…beep…beep! The warning meant that the soap was about to shut off. I raced up and down my truck trying to wash it as fast as I could. Then suddenly the foaming-brush stopped foaming! The bonnet wasn’t completely done so I took the suds from Mt. Killimanjaro (on the ground) and finished washing the rest of my truck. By the time I got done moving the dirt around the days heat started drying the soap on my white truck. I guess I just wasn’t moving fast enough! Oh, dear! I inserted four more quarters and read the rinse instructions: Rinse no streaking; Plan rinse, Rinse with wax, Holy water rinse and Blessing, etc.

“Oh for crying out loud!” I cried out.

I selected rinse with wax and started rinsing my truck as fast as I could but that wasn’t fast enough. The dreaded beep…beep…beep sounded again! The end of the rinse cycle was near! “Oh, no! Not again!” I screamed. I ran up and down the sides of the truck spraying it until the water stopped. Suds rolled down the bonnet and off the hubcaps. I check my purse for more quarters…but I was all out of money. “I’m never doing this again.” I grumbled as I drove my sudsy truck home. Two days later Phoenix had a dust storm followed by a monsoon. My truck is filthy dirty again and you know what? I don’t care!

The End

Written by: Cynthia E. Martin

Last Updated: 03/14/02 08:29:02 AM

Hosted by www.Geocities.ws