Tingle - Slammed In The Butt By My Handsome Laundry Detergent Pod

SLAMMED IN THE BUTT BY MY HANDSOME LAUNDRY DETERGENT POD

By Chuck Tingle

If theres one thing that I cant stand, its being late, and when youre sitting behind the wheel of a car as fast as this one, youve really got no excuse. Im flying through the beautiful Arizona desert, the open road sprawling out before me as far as the eye can see, and yet I dont have any time to appreciate this gorgeous landscape for myself.

Normally, this little stretch of highway would be covered in exotic cars on their way to the big show, and if I wouldve made this drive a little earlier in the day then that wouldve been the case. Unfortunately, I got caught up in Los Angeles, and ended up stuck behind a four-lane pile up, sitting for hours while the police cleared a path.

By the time I finally got out of there, I knew that Id probably not make it to the show before check in time, but I still have to try.

Plenty of people would see me hauling through the desert like this and say that its not worth it, complain that the danger of my incredible speed is way too high when compared to the brief enjoyment Ill get from showing off my ride to other auto fans. While I completely understand this complaint with the logical side of my brain, the emotional side thinks otherwise. These people have never experienced the thrill of having their hard work and sweat put on display, the hood popped open while men and women stroll by to gaze lovingly inside. The folks who come to these auto shows know their stuff, and while the parts Ive chosen may seem average to some random citizen pulled off the street, a real car lover will know just how much care Ive put in to my selections.

Im not some loser, either, which Id imagine is the first thing one might think then they realize just how much time I put into my car. This isnt an extension of some lacking self esteem, this this an artistic expression of myself. My car is my canvass, and right now that canvass is pushing a hundred miles per hour.

Obviously, my ride can go much faster than this if I want it too, but the fact that the auto show has rolled into town for the weekend means that highway patrol is out in full force. Sure, Id still get a ticket for going a hundred, but I can only imagine what theyd do to me if I stacked another eighty miles per hour on top of that.

Still, the clock is ticking.

I push my foot down onto the gas pedal even farther, barely crossing over the threshold into triple digits as I scan the horizon for any sign of life.

Eventually, I spot the bright shiny glint of various parked autos coming into view, cresting over the horizon like the parking lot of my dreams. I slow down a bit and then glance at the dashboard clock, breathing a sigh of relief as I realize that Ive made it on time for check in.

Of course, the desert is so vast out here that it takes forever to actually arrive, even though Ive already seen my destination. Once I finally get there, I pull my car up to the check in booth and climb out, strolling confidently over to the car show officials.

Hey, I say, offering my hand for a firm shake. Im Greg Henderson, Im just checking my car in for the show. My registration number is sixty four, seventy two, zero.

The man standing before me with a clipboard in his hand doesnt meet my gaze as I speak to him, instead staring past me with an expression of confused disappointment. I finally turn around to see whats so interesting, and then swiftly realize that my vehicle is currently far from show condition.

Oh god, I blurt, seeing now that the once beautiful, cherry red finish has been covered and caked with mud. The entire thing is splattered from top to bottom, thanks to my excessive speeding, with dirt and dust creeping into every nook and cranny of the once beautifully immaculate vehicle.

Well, Ill check you in, because youve got all your paperwork here and youve made the cutoff time, the man with the clipboard announces. But youre gonna want to get that thing washed off before the show starts in two hours.

I nod frantically. Thank you, Ill get this cleaned up right away.

The man with the clipboard nods towards a nearby hose. Pull up over there and give yourself a wash down.

Without another word, I climb back into my car and drive it over to the water station. By now, everyone else has spruced up their rides and the section is completely empty, but it quickly becomes apparent that most of the supplies have been thoroughly raided.

Excuse me. Wheres the soap? I call out to a woman strolling by.

She shrugs and shakes her head, clearly confused by my question.

I realize now that Ill have little to work with, but Im committed to scrubbing as long as it takes. I turn on the faucet and start to spray down my vehicle, but to my horror the dirt and mud only seems to cake on even more. Instead of running down the side of my car and dripping onto the ground, these minerals swirl together in a mess of brown and tan, only adding to the state of disorder.

Hey, someone calls out from behind me, causing me to turn off the faucet and spin around.

The man with the clipboard is standing with a look of great concern on his face. He motions for me to approach and I do as instructed, walking up close as the man lowers his voice.

Im not suppose to help out anyone here, because the show is technically a competition, but you seem like a good guy, he offers. Youre not going to get your car clean here, but if you head up the road into the hills a bit youll find a secret car wash. Honestly, its the best in the state. Youve got two hours before the show starts, so thats plenty of time.
I stare back at the man with the clipboard in completely shock, blown away by his kindness. Thank you so much, I gush, then hurry over my car and jump in.

I start the thing up and take off where the man had motioned for, a single lane road that winds up into the nearby hills.

Its been twenty minutes or so and still no sign of this mysterious car wash. I dont want to allow the creeping dread into my mind, but with every passing moment I begin to wonder even more if this whole thing has been some kind of elaborate prank, a way to punish the late guy and teach him a lesson about car show etiquette.

Suddenly, however, my prayers are answered as my vehicle rounds a sharp corner to reveal a small, inconspicuous car wash. I pull in and slow down to a crawl, scanning the building for any signs of life.

I roll down my window. Hello? I call out. Is anyone here? I need an emergency wash.

No response.

I pull around to the back of the structure and find an entrance for the wash, but it appears that the thing isnt even turned on.

Just my luck.

Hey there! I voice suddenly rings out.

From out of nowhere comes a strangely dressed man, wrapped from head to toe in a long dark coat that cannot possibly be comfortable in this desert heat. Atop his head is a wide brimmed hat that covers most of his face, which is even further obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses.

I heard you know how to get things clean, I tell the strange man.

The figure nods. I sure do. You down at the car show today?

I nod.

Well then, the man continues. Lets get you sparkling, shall we?

The figure saunters over to the side of the car wash structure and flips a few switches, causing the old building to immediately come roaring to life. Suddenly, there are all kinds of mops rolling and suds pumping, churning beautifully together as they beckon my car forward.

Should I just pull in? I question.

The mysterious man nods. Just drive on through and then Ill give you a hand wash for details on the other end.

Thank you so much, I gush. How much do I owe you?

The figure stands in silence for a moment, as if mulling something over. Finally, he speaks.

For you, free, he tells me.