So I got my car washed the other day . . . went to one of those places that prep it then run it through the auto-wash (sort of like Leeloo in Fifth Element) then hand dry it. It was worth what I paid for it too because it wasn’t getting washed any other way. It was almost to the point where I was embarrassed to be seen in it.
Anyway, I don’t have a clue how those car washes work so the guy had to tell me where to drive, where to park, where to pay and where to wait. I did as I was told and got to watch my little black Murano go through all the cycles. When it came out, I watched as a couple of young guys dried it. I walked over, admiring how sparky clean it was while they finished up.
There was one guy left as I opened the hatch, retrieved my propeller and re-installed it.
“Here I’ll get that,” he said and he dried the tailgate again and closed the hatch for me.
I decided to chat him up a bit while he finished the back wheel well. “Did you know that people drive better in a clean car than a dirty one?” I asked.
“Didn’t know that,” he said, standing up. “Sort of like a new hair cut makes you all proud to be out and about.” He squared his shoulders and stood tall.
“Well, unless it’s a crappy hair cut.” I said and he laughed.
“All done?” I asked.
“Yep,” he answered but he lingered, leaning against my car and watching me.
Enter the awkward moment where we stood looking at each other. I wondered what else I had to say to this young car dryer and what else he had to say to me. If I was about 30 years younger I might have thought he was checking me out . . . sizing me up . . . whatever they call it these days. But I’m way passed the age of being delusional.
“Well, okay, then.” I said, breaking the silence and reaching up to shake his hand. “Thanks!”
He shook my hand, said goodbye and sauntered off.
It was only after I’d driven off and was half way home when I thought “Uh, oh . . . was I supposed to tip him?”