My wife’s car is for the birds. So I took it to a car wash.
Sue asked me to take care of business after a fouling flock that nests in a big oak whose branches overhang the driveway did its business all over her previously pristine vehicle.
That’s how I ended up at Medford Car Wash, where I helped the conscientious crew clean Sue’s car and got the drop on bird droppings.
I pulled up, got out of the car and asked Abed, who was about to vacuum the seats and floor mats before sending Sue’s sedan through the wash, if I could offer some assistance.
“This is my wife’s car,” I explained, “and I want to tell her that I actually helped clean it.”
Abed smiled and handed me a hose so I could blow dirt, sand and lint off one of the mats he had removed from the car.
“You’re doing a good job,” he said approvingly. “Your wife will like it.”
Inside, a very nice cashier named Nallely told me that husbands bring their wives’ cars in all the time because they can’t wash the cars themselves.
“Or,” she added with a knowing grin, “because they don’t want to.”
After the car had come out the other side, I asked a personable crew member named Nikita if I could help hand-dry it.
“It would impress my wife,” I said.
Nikita nodded and smiled. Then she gave me a towel and told me to see Taki, who was directing a couple of other guys on the crew.
“You want to help?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll put some elbow grease into it.”
“Don’t put grease on the car,” said Taki, who let me dry part of the roof, as well as the left passenger door and the door frame.
“How did I do?” I wondered.
“I’ll give you a 10 out of 10!” Taki gushed. “Five stars!”
Nikita was similarly impressed.
“Do you want your own car wash?” she asked.
“I could never do as good a job as you and your coworkers,” I replied. “But if I did own one, I’d give you all raises.”
Just then, Sam, the real owner, came over.
“Your crew is terrific,” I said. “And I helped clean my wife’s car.”
“You could work here,” said Sam, adding that his employees are, indeed, very good. He also said he brings his wife’s car in to be washed.
“You don’t wash it yourself?” I asked.
“No,” Sam said. “But after 15 years of marriage, she trusts me to make it look good. She had some dings and scratches. I compounded her car and it came out perfect.”
“I’ve been married for 44 years,” I told Sam.
“I’m on wife No. 4,” he said. “But she’s the best one.”
As he looked over Sue’s car, he noticed some spots that hadn’t quite come off.
“Do you have a tree next to the driveway?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“It’s dripping sap on your wife’s car,” he said. “If you don’t remove it right away, it will burn the car. But don’t worry, I have some sap remover.”
“I’m a sap,” I said. “Will it work on me?”
“No,” said Sam. “You’re too big.”
Then he noticed the faint residue of bird droppings that weren’t fully washed off because they had been caked on the car.
“As soon as you see them, you have to hose them off,” Sam said.
“The poop or the birds?” I wondered.
“Not the birds,” he said. “That won’t help you.”
But the solvent solved the problem.
“Now the car is spotless,” I said. “My wife will love it.”
And indeed she did when I got home.
“My car hasn’t been this clean since it left the dealership,” Sue said.
“That’s because I helped,” I told her.
The next day, Sue spotted some spots on my car.
“Looks like the birds got it,” she said.
“I can’t wait until they fly south for the winter,” I grumbled. “In the meantime, I guess I’ll have to help clean it at the car wash.”
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