To my horror, last night I ran out of coffee.
So, I rose with the sun. I accomplished some writing stuff, and then – au natural – I slapped on a houndstooth hat and skipped to Coop. Okay, I drove.
Which is the main part of the story.
At the till, I chatted with the cashier, and then I walked along the yellow-brick road to my dirty-caked vehicle. Why was I driving a vehicle caked with dirt?
With Def Leppard blaring, I headed to the Arborg Coop Gas Station’s car wash. I drove into the bay, and I washed my Kia. With a wand. For the first time.
I’ve never wand-washed a vehicle. I either washed them by hand or drove them into those fun car washes. Needless to say, this was a new experience.
My Kia sparkled under the pre-soak. What’s that shiny stuff? Chrome? I have chrome! Then the rinse cycle. Here’s the thing about wand-washers. They’re powerful. When I squeezed the lever, I wasn’t prepared for the kickback. I was tossed against my mirror while an industrial-strength sprayer soaked my car. Gunk fell from the tire wells and dirt oozed from my winter hub caps. It’s mid-March in Manitoba is too early to remove winter tires. It’s a Manitoba thing.
After filthy water swirled down the drain, I wandered around the vehicle. No streaks or left over gunk. I dusted off my hands, and I almost broke into Madonna’s Like a Virgin.
After all, I just wand-washed my first vehicle.
I jumped into my spotless car, and I drove to the wash bay doors. You know, to leave. But the doors wouldn’t open. I backed up, thinking my vehicle missed the sensors. Like car washes in the city. Where the doors open automatically as you approach the exit.
I popped my vehicle into drive, and I inched closer to the door. Nope. No sensors. Maybe it’s sound activated? I pushed the horn. Beep, beep.
Nothing. No one was in the wash bay beside me. I couldn’t ask for help. I was trapped in a car wash. And that’s when I started to giggle. I dragged out my Smartphone, and I dialed for help. Still giggling.
“Hello, Arborg Coop Gas Station.”
“Hi.” Seriously, I couldn’t stop giggling. “Um. I’m stuck in your car wash.”
“You’re stuck in our car wash?”
“Um … yeah.” Oh, the giggling. “I’m sorry. I can’t stop laughing. Is there a button or something.”
“You know on the wall where you paid for your wash? There’s a green button. It says ‘Open.’ ”
Sure enough, I found the button, and I made my escape, giggling all the way the home.
Maybe I would’ve seen the button eventually if it were placed near the exit. Surrounded by flashing arrows and a massive “Push Me” sign.
But it’s a car wash. These things happen. I’m sure I’m not the first person to be trapped in that car wash. And I doubt I’ll be the last. And my theory?
If you can’t laugh at yourself, you’re not having fun.