I figured, after a month of driving the wheels off my new Mustang, that it was probably about time to wash it. I mentioned that item of information to my two car guys.
“You mean you haven’t washed it yet?” asked Rick incredulously. “I thought you were going to take better care of this one.”
“Remember what the previous owner said about not taking it through the car wash,” said Marty. “You have to wash it by hand to keep from damaging the racing stripes.”
“And don’t go using dishwashing soap on it,” said Rick. “It’ll eat right through the wax. They sell special car washing soap that won’t damage the finish.”
“You’ll also need a chamois, or microfiber mitt,” said Marty. “None of those rough washrags that could scratch the clear coat.”
“Better get a good quality drying towel while you’re at it,” said Rick. “If you’re going to do the job right, you can’t be leaving the car covered in water spots.”
And this, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is exactly what pushed me right over the edge.
I’ll be the first to admit it, when it comes to car maintenance, I’m such a … well, I was going to say “such a girl,” but I didn’t want to come across as sexist. Let’s just say I know very little about cars other than you put gas in them and they go.
So I dutifully went to the auto supply shop to throw myself of the mercy of strangers. Except, as it turns out, I must have been wearing my cloak of invisibility when I sought assistance.
At no less than FIVE such stores in three days, I was virtually ignored. While man after man was asked if he needed help, no one ever came to my aid. What the heck’s with that? Last time I checked, my money is as green as any man’s money!
So I walked out of the first four places empty handed—no doubt procrastinating about having to wash my car myself in the first place.
Finally, I put my big girl panties on and read the labels and compared brands and various qualities and benefits and manufactures’ promises, and finally arrived at the soap, mitt, and towel I deemed best. Then I also bought some new car mats—not that I “needed” them, but because I wanted to protect the original Mustang mats.
A break in the weather allowed me to put all my new toys to work over the weekend. Washing, rinsing, drying—I got quite an aerobic workout! Then I called to report my accomplishment to Rick.
“Did you vacuum it out?” he asked.
I scowled, but I supposed it was a fair question, as he’s the one who bought me the twice-used car vac a year ago.
“Yes,” I said between clenched teeth. “I vacuumed it out.”
“Both sides?”
“Oops! I’m getting another call—got to run, bye!”
And then I went back into the garage and vacuumed out the other side, even though it wasn’t the least bit dirty. Who knew that car guys could be such pains in the ass?!