The thing is, those random little errands I could run during the day back when I was a collegiate now have to be taken care of when I'm not on the clock. Plus I have the added pitfall that my sorority is no longer creating my social calendar for me. My world as of late is filled with small, random happenings that pop up in my spastic conquest to cram too much into a 24-hour period. This means I don't have any exciting stories to tell you about ditching rock stars or cats flying out of moving vehicles. However, I do feel the need to document my visit to the DMV and instructions on how to lock yourself into your own apartment. And still some of you (namely, my parents) continue reading my random rants. Thank you.
So let's talk about self-serving car washes, shall we? A simple concept to some, but not to me. I'm choosing to blame it on the fact that I have plenty of book smarts, but have to learn street smarts through experience. By "experience" I mean embarrassing myself in public.
I wake up a few weeks ago to the same level of torrential downpour that had been attacking my apartment since 6 p.m. the previous day. The good news: contrary to what the weathermen said (shocking since they're usually always right on target), it never hailed and therefore my car's exterior is intact and dent-free. The bad news: All the dirt on the plot of grass I parked in front of decided to mudslide its way all over the front of my car. Today's priority: car wash.
|The cleanest day of Luna's life.|
I pick up what appears to be a massive water gun and hose down Luna, my Mazda3. Fine. Easy. Now for some soap. I flip the knob to the "soap" button and go to get the spongy brush. While waiting for soap to start coming out of the spongy brush, I set down the water gun, which is still spewing water. (Actually, it's spewing soap now ... but I haven't figured that out yet.) You're supposed to put the water gun back in the holster thing when you aren't using it, but unfortunately I lack the common sense to realize this.
The problem is, you can't just set down the water gun, because if you do, it will rocket away from you. Since it's conveniently attached to this long metal arm that conveniently spins around so you can reach all sides of your car, the water gun will then spin in circles around your car. You will then be the imbecile chasing an inanimate object around your car and shrieking at it to stop.
After five circles around my car, I finally catch up with the water gun. I return it to the holster and go back to stare at the spongy brush. Why is there no soap? How does this thing work? I use my last coin on another attempt at wishing for the "soap" button to make the sponge brush work. Same failed outcome. (Hint: there's a separate "foam brush" button. If only I knew how to see and read.)
I hose down my car with water (that is actually soap) while simultaneously attempting to look like my outburst was completely intentional and I am totally in control. (It's not working. People are staring.) I'm confused when some bubbles appear in the water, but I assume it's just a coincidence. I leave the car wash under the impression that all I've accomplished is spending $3 to douse my car with water. Actually, I paid $3 so I could look like a wacko and drive away with soap drying all over my car.
Mental note: bring a street-smart boy with me the next time a car wash is in order.
|Easier said than done.|
One, running alongside a train in New Jersey while banging on the door and begging to be let in. Apparently I commonly speak to inanimate objects and expect them to bow to my wishes.
Two, shrieking in terror as my skirt blew up and I exposed my panties to some passersby at the gas station. I'm no stranger to attracting unwanted attention to myself at gas stations.
Just another day in the life. Making the mundane ridiculous, for your enjoyment.