Dog Day Winters and The Evil Carwash

This time of year there are so many things about living in Southern California that I miss.  South Coast Plaza, the Christmas tree lighting in Laguna…Vitamin D. Sigh.  Thank goodness at least one of those things comes in a bottle.  Anyway, this past week we had a brief snow storm that coated my island world in the Pacific Northwest in a thin, pretty layer of white one day, and swept it away in a smear of schmutz and mud puddles the next.  It dawned on me then what thing I miss the very most: a full service car wash.

Full service car washes simply do not exist in Washington.  From my very first car (Used Nissan Pulsar T-Top: hot 80’s teenager car) to my last vehicle purchased in California (New 2001 Dodge Durango: Mom car), I had grown accustomed to taking my dirty car to any of the dozens of car washes in the vicinity where I simply had to pull up and a hive of hard working employees would rush out to vacuum my vehicle, throw out the trash, scrub and shine and Armor All, and then stand enthusiastically spinning a towel over his or her head to signify completion after I had spent the past 15 minutes or so browsing the car wash’s cute curio shop or getting a latte.

Okay, one time in college that backfired, because I had left my undergarments in the car after changing into a bathing suit at the beach. I returned to the car to find my bra hanging from the rear view mirror and my underwear wrapped around the gearshift. Perverts. Anyway, what we’ve got here in Washington is just the drive through carwash. If you go to a really nice one, they’ll have human being there to give your car a little pre-scrub before you go in, but that’s the end of their interaction with your vehicle. If you’re REALLY lucky, there will be self-service, coin operated vacuum station with vacuums that actually work.

So, Tuesday I finally got myself into town to do some grocery shopping and decided to take advantage of the brief break in the weather to drive through one of the car washes.  My car was looking like I had been living in it.  Anyway, my dog, Odin, does NOT like driving through the car wash.  In fact, he usually ends up in my lap whimpering and clawing at the door and he’s close to 70 pounds.  Well, he’s a year old and Tuesday was no different.

I got to the car wash and rolled down my dirty window and smiled at the attendant, “I’m so glad you’re open!” I beamed.  He smiled artificially and said, “Oh, I am too!” imitating my enthusiasm. Jerk.  Anyway, he directed me onto the carwash rails and gave the Subaru Outback a little scrubby-scrubby before the monster powered on and started spinning its soapy tentacles.  I put the car in neutral and took my foot of the break as directed, and the car lurched forward being pulled into the mouth of the beast slowly by the tracks.  True to form, Odin started whimpering and getting antsy.  I reached my right arm into the back seat as he tried to make his way up into the front seat. “No, buddy, you stay there, it’s going to be fine…” I soothed.  He began flopping his big paw onto the car door on the right side, whining to get out. “It’s okay, it’s fine Odin”, I cooed. Scratch, whimper, whine.  Big, scary, soapy tentacles spinning and plopping on the roof and sides of the car leaving us in a dish sink submarine world.  I turned forward just in time to miss Odin flopping his big paw on the window button…which rolled it down.  In the car wash.  Odin’s whining was getting more insistent and I turned around to see him rolling down the window, soap and water pouring to the car and him REALLY starting to panic.

“Oh my gosh, Odin, NO!” I turned and twisted, throwing myself into the back seat to save my dog from drowning, and the upholstery from certain ruin.  Soap and water were spewing into the car, into my eyes and hair, and just as I felt the tips of my fingers contact the window button…just a little bit further… my left thigh hit the steering wheel and launched the car off the tracks sideways.

Half on and half off the tracks, the car made a horrible grinding sound as the track continued to roll beneath it sideways. Odin had COMPLETELY lost it and jumped over my back into the front seat while I desperately tried to close the window while wiping colored soap out of my face and spitting it out of my mouth.

I heard the buzzer go off, saw the siren lights flashing and octopus appendages go flaccid, and jumped out of my skin as jerk-boy began pounding on my window. "You wanna wash your dog, take him to a groomer!" He shouted through the soapy glass.

I’m sure I made their day.  And I will never. EVER. Take my dog into a car wash again unless I’m feeding him an In N’ Out burger while we watch someone ELSE wash it in the sunshine in San Clemente.