This Car Wash Made Me Fail At Adulting.

Dear Gas Station Attendant I had an unwanted encounter with this morning: I am a little sorry that I scared you.

You see, I had dropped off my older child at school and was on my way to drop off the younger one. We were running out of gas and weren’t particularly pressed for time, so I stopped at your gas station.

Things went well at the gas pump. Gas, like, came out into my tank and everything. None spilled. The numbers worked (but were strangely loud) when I typed in my zip  code.

And I was prompted to see if I wanted a car wash.

Actually, I did. I wanted one very badly. My car is so dirty, you’d be hard-pressed to figure out what color it actually is. I’ve been planning to get a car wash for ages but, well, you know how that goes. Well, you probably don’t because you work right next to one. But then again, after my experience, maybe you DO know how that goes.

Anyway, your machine did not give me the price for the car wash, but I chose the basic one thinking it was probably just $2 or $3. After filling the tank, I hopped back in the car with my 4yo and pulled around to the car wash.

Meyer was unnaturally excited to be going through the car wash. Damn, kids love the car wash. Actually, damn, adults love the car wash too. It’s fun. It really is.

At least the ones that work are.

There was a screen at the entry but it was like a computer screen. There was no place to enter my code (and as I looked for my code, I noticed the car wash you didn’t give me a price for was $7. This must be a precious car wash with, like, mostly naked guys doing a dance during the rain/cleaning portion, hopefully singing “It’s Raining Men!” – I better remember to shield my 4yo’s eyes.)

Anyway, nowhere to enter the code. And a computer screen with just pure gibberish on it. I tried pushing some buttons. Nothing. I talked to myself a lot – like this: “What is going on here? Where do I put the code? This is ridiculous. I don’t have all day. $7 car wash. Isn’t there a way to buzz inside so I can ask for some help? Nope. Nope. Nope. There’s not.”

My son then said, “Mommy, when are we going in the car wash?”

To which I replied, “Never, apparently, son because the screen is not working.”

“Never?!!!” he wailed. “I want to go in the car wash!” And then he started to whine hard, sort of leaning into a cry.

That’s when I said, as gently as possible, “Me too, son. Me too. Please just don’t cry. Hold on, let mom figure this out.”

I saw a reset button, dear gas station attendant, and given the complete lack of alternatives, I pushed that. The entire screen began to reboot. I filed my nails. No, I didn’t but I could’ve. Could’ve painted them too. Could’ve grown them out actually.

Then the screen rebooted. There were 3  options, all of which were offering to sell me a car wash. But, you see, I had already bought a car wash so I didn’t know what to do. I pushed the button for the car wash I had already purchased. You know, the BASIC $7 one.

A very animated lady appeared on the screen and said, “GREAT! Now please put your credit card or money into the slot.”

I yell at her but only a little. “I. HAVE. ALREADY. PAID.”

She just keeps smiling at me. It’s the kind of smile that deserves a slap. But she’s in the computer and I cannot slap people in the computer. I know because I’ve tried.

I push the “back” button, and I’m back to the screen where I can choose which car wash to BUY again.

Inside my head I scream “WHERE THE FUCK DO YOU PUT THE CODE? I JUST WANT TO PUT IN A SIMPLE FUCKING CODE AND WHY IS THERE NO PLACE TO PUT IN A SIMPLE FUCKING CODE?” I didn’t say this out loud, dear gas station attendant, because it is not good adulting to say “fucking” in front of your kid unless someone has pulled out in front of you and you have to slam on brakes and then you get a pass.

My kid then said, “Mommy, please go in the car wash. Pleeeeaaaaaase?” and he repeated it a bunch like he does and I don’t handle pressure well so this just made me even more stabby.

I took a deep breath. I can adult. I will adult now.

I take out my phone and search for the number of the gas station I am currently residing at. YOUR gas station. It’s hard to find because the car wash is blocking my view of the sign. But I do figure it out after a few more pleadings from the kid to go in the car wash and a few more “shhhhhh”s! from me that are done with enough force to give me an aneurysm.

I dial.

A cheery lady voice picks up. Everyone here sounds so cheery. It’s a wonder really.

“Can I help you?” the lady says. Is it you? I don’t know.

“Yes, PLEASE.” I have to admit that I was gritting my teeth. “I have been sitting at your car wash for about 10 minutes now and I cannot figure out how to put in the code so I can get my car washed and get my kid to school.” This is what I said to the lady who answered the phone, you see. And then this is what she said to me.

“Oh, just look on your receipt and the code is at the bottom and you just type it on that screen there and that’s it.”

My blood pressure then rose very close to whatever over whatever gives you a stroke because it was all I could do not to scream at her that I AM NOT A MORON. But I don’t. I am adulting.

“There is no place to put the code on the screen.” I say, very slowly. “There is nothing but a computer lady who wants me to choose between 3 types of car washes to BUY, but I’ve already bought one. At the pump.” I pushed the button for the “cheap” $7 car wash so she could hear the lady urging me to buy a car wash when I already owned a brand new one.

“Oh yeah,” she said. “That’s happened before. It’s messed up. They’ll  have to reboot it from <garbled> like they did last time. Come on in and we’ll give you your money back.”

I know it’s not my phone‘s fault but I want to throw it at the lady on the screen or the lady on the phone anyway. I don’t because remember? I’m still trying to adult.

I drive through the car wash without my car even getting wet and then around to park in front of the store. Probably the last thing I wanted to do this morning was get out of my car in my sweat pants, sleep shirt, no makeup and unbrushed hair and go into a store. But I do. Because I am getting that fucking $7 back.

I tell Meyer to hold tight. I’ll be right back.

He whines. “But we didn’t get a car wash.”

Deep breath. “We’ll get one after school. SOMEWHERE ELSE. Okay?”

I go in and straight to the counter. A woman is buying what I can only guess is her breakfast and she should really consider seeing a nutritionist because while I try not to be terribly judgey about what people eat, I’m pretty sure an Orange Fanta, a bag of hot fries, and a Ho-ho are the breakfast of last place finishers, not champions.

I waited, semi-patiently. With sighs.

She stepped aside when she was done. I stepped up to you, the clerk. I handed you my receipt and just stood there looking at you. I could not even speak by this point.

You looked at the receipt. Then you looked up at me and said, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Adulting. Adulting. We’re still trying to adult here, I reminded myself.

“The car wash won’t work and I need my money back.”

“Would you step aside and let me ring up the guy behind you and then I’ll take care of you?” you said nonchalantly.

Adulting ended rather abruptly at this point.

“I have been waiting at your car wash for more than 10 minutes, it’s not working, and I have to get my son to school. GIVE. ME. MY. MONEY. NOW.”

It is only in retrospect that I see it perhaps was not a good idea to yell at a gas station attendant standing over a cash register to GIVE ME MY MONEY NOW.

But you rightly thought it best to skip the option to return the $7 to the credit card with which I had paid and instead opened the register and just handed me $7 cash. Then you looked down at the floor and waited for me to not be standing there anymore.

And I left with my $7 and no car wash and 20 minutes less of my morning and a stress migraine and the knowledge that a dirty car is really not that bad of a thing.

Most of this was probably not your fault specifically, so sorry for yelling. But I would recommend not asking someone to step aside so you can help the next customer when you see smoke coming out of their ears. It’s not just for cartoons, you know.

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