novella
Active Member
Hey guys, this happened to me today! Just kidding. IT'S FICTION! (but I did think of it in the carwash today)
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Carwash
The man waved her forward and Finula rocked the lunky car into place on the yellow floor plates. Over, over, turn, stop. The man, a greasy, tired guy in dirt-colored clothes, took a big wet mop and sloshed it over the front bumper. The carwashes in New York were way better than this. They had armies of little brown men in jumpsuits swarming over your car with clean rags, inside and out. Last time she went to her favorite city carwash, they all came running to see the filthy car, laughed at her, pointing. “You like the advertisement, driving to the top of a mountain.”
“Yeah, I live there,” she said. She laughed with them. Gave them a fat tip, it took so long to clean. The running boards were crusted with road salt and soil, running off in brown rivulets down to the storm drain. The car came out like new. Shiny black.
Here there was just this greasy man with rough hands, all alone in the wet. When he was done with the mop he came for the money.
“Ten,” he said.
“For everything?”
“Yeah, ten for everything.”
She was never sure whether there was a difference between everything and something else. Like if she said, give me just the wash, no polish, which was seven bucks, she thought she’d still get everything. It wasn’t that sophisticated. He just flipped the same switch no matter what. But it looked like he could use the ten.
She put the window up and settled in for the ride, unwrapping the tuna sandwich she’d bought at the gas station. This was the fun part. She figured she’d eat some sandwich while the car got pulled along under the brushes. The big grinding noise started, and then the car lurched forward, and sheets of water started hitting the windows from all sides. It was like a funhouse, even better cause there was no screaming. She took a bite of the sandwich. Soft and soggy, just how she liked it. Tasted maybe a day old, which was okay. Melt in the mouth, as much healthy fiber in there as a marshmallow. She swallowed and then remembered she’d forgotten to get a bottle of water. Oh well.
The huge green brushes were starting now, coming down on all sides of the car. Some of them looked like big noodles, giant fettucine wagging back and forth. Some like muffs, spinning wet furry muffs. Thwap thwap thwap, the noodles hit the windows. The water kept spraying. It was a hurricane out there. She took another bite of tuna and swallowed. A big bite. But it didn’t want to go down. It stuck in her gullet like a throat plug. She swallowed hard, but there was nothing to swallow with. Ugh.
She was having trouble breathing. She poked a finger into her mouth, but didn’t feel anything. It was too far down, but not far enough. The noodles and muffs beat loudly on the car like a storm. Thwap thwap. Key Largo, the hurricane scene. She tried to cough, but the lump of condensed cheap bread stayed stuck in her throat. Arghh arghh gack. She tried hawking it out. It was definitely stuck. She had no choice. Looked around. This damn thing would take too long. It was hardly moving.
The car was only halfway through. She looked back to see if the greasy man was near, but he’d gone back into his plywood hut where he stayed between cars. Panicking, she forced open the door, hoping the big noodles wouldn’t be in the way. A jet of foul water hit her face as she tried getting out of the car.
Damned SUV was so big, she had no room to open the door. She put her foot out, and tried to slither through the gap. Her shoe came down on the wet metal track. As she tried to stand her trendy driving moccasin slipped out from under her, and she reached for a giant noodle, just to avoid hitting the floor. The noodle was thick and disgusting, like a used sponge. When she squeezed it, brown water ran straight down her arm, all the way to her armpit in a stream.
She couldn’t breathe. There was dirty water everywhere, in her nose, shooting up her skirt, in her eyes. The water tasted sulphuric, like rotten eggs. The car lurched forward again as she tried to gain her footing, and she fell against the wet concrete wall. It was slimy with suds and polish. She tore a manicured nail on the noodle, but held on, trying still to breathe. Water shot into the open car door, drenching the leather seats. Her new pink leather handbag and its contents had fallen onto the track and were being dragged along under the car. Her Chanel lipstick, Strumpet Rose. That’s $30 right there, she thought, as she struggled for air. And my goddamn cell phone.
The car had now reached the drying hoses, huge tubes that blew hot air over the hood. One of the hoses scraped against the open door. Finula stumbled backward toward the greasy man’s hut. He was sitting in an threadbare gray office chair, next to an old electric heater. Listening to a transistor. Right-wing radio, she thought. Bastard. Right-wing bastard cheap carwash. Arghhh arghhh, she coughed, as she banged on his window.
He got up quickly and opened the door, moving lightly as if lifted from the chair. Stared at her. Open mouth. Fish eyes. Red rimmed and sad.
“Water,” she said.
==============
Carwash
The man waved her forward and Finula rocked the lunky car into place on the yellow floor plates. Over, over, turn, stop. The man, a greasy, tired guy in dirt-colored clothes, took a big wet mop and sloshed it over the front bumper. The carwashes in New York were way better than this. They had armies of little brown men in jumpsuits swarming over your car with clean rags, inside and out. Last time she went to her favorite city carwash, they all came running to see the filthy car, laughed at her, pointing. “You like the advertisement, driving to the top of a mountain.”
“Yeah, I live there,” she said. She laughed with them. Gave them a fat tip, it took so long to clean. The running boards were crusted with road salt and soil, running off in brown rivulets down to the storm drain. The car came out like new. Shiny black.
Here there was just this greasy man with rough hands, all alone in the wet. When he was done with the mop he came for the money.
“Ten,” he said.
“For everything?”
“Yeah, ten for everything.”
She was never sure whether there was a difference between everything and something else. Like if she said, give me just the wash, no polish, which was seven bucks, she thought she’d still get everything. It wasn’t that sophisticated. He just flipped the same switch no matter what. But it looked like he could use the ten.
She put the window up and settled in for the ride, unwrapping the tuna sandwich she’d bought at the gas station. This was the fun part. She figured she’d eat some sandwich while the car got pulled along under the brushes. The big grinding noise started, and then the car lurched forward, and sheets of water started hitting the windows from all sides. It was like a funhouse, even better cause there was no screaming. She took a bite of the sandwich. Soft and soggy, just how she liked it. Tasted maybe a day old, which was okay. Melt in the mouth, as much healthy fiber in there as a marshmallow. She swallowed and then remembered she’d forgotten to get a bottle of water. Oh well.
The huge green brushes were starting now, coming down on all sides of the car. Some of them looked like big noodles, giant fettucine wagging back and forth. Some like muffs, spinning wet furry muffs. Thwap thwap thwap, the noodles hit the windows. The water kept spraying. It was a hurricane out there. She took another bite of tuna and swallowed. A big bite. But it didn’t want to go down. It stuck in her gullet like a throat plug. She swallowed hard, but there was nothing to swallow with. Ugh.
She was having trouble breathing. She poked a finger into her mouth, but didn’t feel anything. It was too far down, but not far enough. The noodles and muffs beat loudly on the car like a storm. Thwap thwap. Key Largo, the hurricane scene. She tried to cough, but the lump of condensed cheap bread stayed stuck in her throat. Arghh arghh gack. She tried hawking it out. It was definitely stuck. She had no choice. Looked around. This damn thing would take too long. It was hardly moving.
The car was only halfway through. She looked back to see if the greasy man was near, but he’d gone back into his plywood hut where he stayed between cars. Panicking, she forced open the door, hoping the big noodles wouldn’t be in the way. A jet of foul water hit her face as she tried getting out of the car.
Damned SUV was so big, she had no room to open the door. She put her foot out, and tried to slither through the gap. Her shoe came down on the wet metal track. As she tried to stand her trendy driving moccasin slipped out from under her, and she reached for a giant noodle, just to avoid hitting the floor. The noodle was thick and disgusting, like a used sponge. When she squeezed it, brown water ran straight down her arm, all the way to her armpit in a stream.
She couldn’t breathe. There was dirty water everywhere, in her nose, shooting up her skirt, in her eyes. The water tasted sulphuric, like rotten eggs. The car lurched forward again as she tried to gain her footing, and she fell against the wet concrete wall. It was slimy with suds and polish. She tore a manicured nail on the noodle, but held on, trying still to breathe. Water shot into the open car door, drenching the leather seats. Her new pink leather handbag and its contents had fallen onto the track and were being dragged along under the car. Her Chanel lipstick, Strumpet Rose. That’s $30 right there, she thought, as she struggled for air. And my goddamn cell phone.
The car had now reached the drying hoses, huge tubes that blew hot air over the hood. One of the hoses scraped against the open door. Finula stumbled backward toward the greasy man’s hut. He was sitting in an threadbare gray office chair, next to an old electric heater. Listening to a transistor. Right-wing radio, she thought. Bastard. Right-wing bastard cheap carwash. Arghhh arghhh, she coughed, as she banged on his window.
He got up quickly and opened the door, moving lightly as if lifted from the chair. Stared at her. Open mouth. Fish eyes. Red rimmed and sad.
“Water,” she said.
