The scowling, tattooed man beckons “Come, come, come, come, come on….” his hand frantically motions me toward him.
When I hesitate, his gestures become more wild. “This way, this way” he yells pointing.
I timidly inch my way toward his pointing. I’m so scared of falling off the edge, I creep along.
When I finally reach the place he wants me to be he stops yelling.
He frowns, then shakes his head.
His bony, dirty finger points again, this time to a sign.
I read, then obey.
I feel a small jolt and begin to move forward.
The place I move into is dark and noisy.
And it smells bad.
I get the feeling I’m going to get hit from behind. I cringe and brace myself.
There is sloshing.
And finally a swooshing sound.
My eyebrows begin to lift toward the roof.
So do my windshield wipers. Up, up, up they go, vibrating and hitting the glass.
The roof above my head threatens to be torn off.
When a second tattooed angry looking man bangs hard on my trunk I slam the gear shift to D, punch the gas, squeal the tires, and get the holy hell outta there.
Car washes scare the shit out of me.