In Need of a Hand Job
I love
droughts.
Don’t get me wrong. I understand they are bad for the
environment. I know the farmers and plant life of the world need water to
fall from the sky. I’m aware that it that it throws a bit of a wrench into
the normal workings of the world. But rain has never been my thing,
particularly in the summer.
No rain means I rarely wash my car. No rain means my
grass doesn’t grow; my lawn mower is free to sulk in the shed.
No rain means I awaken to the sun in the sky,
nary a cloud in sight. No rain means weather suited for
softball and picnics.
But this is getting out of hand.
The grass in my yard cries out like a bowl of
Cap’n Crunch
when I walk upon it.
The trees in the yard have given up hope, wilting under the pressure and
often tossing their leaves to the ground in protest.
Water restrictions
are getting tighter and tighter, halting me from saving my poor
old grass and, even worse, giving my car the proper cleaning that it deserves.
Keeping my car clean is a bit of an obsession;
an obsession that I started long ago. My first car, a 1984 Ford Escort was
probably the cleanest 1984 Ford Escort on earth. It was clean inside and
out. (Has anyone else seen a clean 1984 Ford Escort? What about a brown one
in 1992?)
It became quite a badge of honor for me and an eventual annoyance for
my wife (who wants a hubby that critiques their car’s cleanliness every
time they enter it?).
The habit of keeping my car spic and spam continued through the years and
a second car. Not too long ago I purchased a
new vehicle, a 1998 Pontiac
Trans Am
(it is still new to me). The cleaning gods rejoiced.
I can’t say I’ve kept it as clean as I like. The problem with a reasonably
expensive car is that you need a job to pay for it. Factor in a house and
a wife and I just don’t have the time to spend with it that I did.
I have my lazy moments, but by and large the sports car has looked sporty
more often than not.
Our current drought has thrown its own tool into my normal cleaning plans.
No longer can I lovingly caress my white little vehicle back to health with
a shammy. No longer can I clean every crease and crevice. I’m relegated
to the community car wash, where even a manual wash cannot get the
Trans Am shine to my satisfaction.
I suppose that other people worry about important things, like the reservoirs
being low or keeping the greens green. But the
rain
of today and yesterday has started a bit of musing.
I’ve got to get out there and wash that car. It’s filthy.
