I bought a Pontiac in the middle of the big blizzard of 79.
It goes without saying
that anyone with new wheels
works very hard to maintain that new car smell
for as long as possible.
Eating or drinking in my expensive purchase
was simply forbidden.
In order to keep the floor mats immaculate,
I actually considered making my passengers slip on booties
while throwing their dirty shoes on a sheet of plastic in the trunk.
January in Chicago is not the ideal time to bring home a new car. It's
a constant uphill battle
to keep it clean.
Even my best efforts proved to be fruitless.
Those darn salt stains along with a dose of disgustingly muddy slush were my constant unwanted companions,
hungry to consume my new coat of paint.
On my way home from school
on one of those blustery cold and windy below zero days,
I decided to find a car wash.
As you can imagine,
not many were opened
on a day when the wind chill was practically double digits
I finally located one,
quite different from the other car washes
I had previously frequented.
This particular operation took place in a little square building.
Your car is mechanically directed to a particular spot,
and a recorded voice demands that you put your gears in neutral while the doors shut in front of you as well as behind.
It’s a little claustrophobic,
but before you have a chance to react,
2 big red rollers descend upon you sweeping back and forth
along the sides and top of your automobile
surrounding your vehicle with soap suds.
Instead of my car traveling on a track from station to station,
I was parked and the machines did all the work.
Back and forth they traveled doing a terrific job.
It was such a cleansing feeling
knowing I was soon going to emerge sparkling clean.
The next cycle was the big rinse...
those riveting red rollers made their way back and forth,
back and forth,
back and forth
until I began to wonder how many times this automatic machine
was going to proceed.
...All right already!...
A thin layer of ice began to form completely and evenly around me. I felt like I was trapped in a frozen mobile.
It was at about this time,
I began to realize something was amiss.
The big square box that held this giant washing machine
was malfunctioning.
I began to honk,
but the building was set quite a distance behind the gas station apart from the car wash.
I could not see outside
but
I knew
there were not going to be many people milling around
on this frigid evening.
I continued honking
as the rollers spread their tentacles
stranglng my poor blue cruiser
and then began to shoot streams of ice cold water
randomly around the area.
My entrance and exit
seemed to be coated in ice,
I could barely see out my windows
as frost was forming
I felt like an Eskimo sitting in an igloo.
Unfortunately
none of us were equipped with a cell phone in those days.
I was sure I was doomed!
I couldn’t open my car door
because it was frozen shut.
Even if I could,
the front and back garage like doors
resembled a rather unusual set of ice sculptures.
I imagined my obituary.
A frozen Teacher was discovered
defrosting in her brand new Pontiac.
The auto was spotlessly clean,
unfortunately,
it no longer smelled like a new car.
Not to keep you out in the cold,
someone finally heard me
and a few guys volunteered to melt the ice
on the big garage doors with a blow torch
and then applied heat packs to my door locks.
They felt like they were peeling a big blue frozen onion.
Although there were no tears shed,
my heroes thought the whole thing was rather hysterical.
All I could do was give them an icy glare.
but thats
another story
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