Sorry, I left my card reader in Boise. Also, I have 6 fingers.

After having to sleep in my car the other night (see Wal-Mart post), getting a parking ticket on my scooter (which also recently got booted before I left Boise, bringing my parking/speeding ticket value of the year to over $500), accidentally leaving a bag of groceries at the store and the Buddie chewing up my bed-sheet, today topped it all off with my bike rack getting ripped off the roof of my car in the middle of a car-wash…

The attendant was disgruntled with something to begin with and as he scrubbed and pre-washed my car, I could see him mouthing obscenities in a different language and glaring at me with this “I hate my job right now which means I hate you by association” type of look in his eyes. I tried to show compassion with a genuine smile and wave (as oppose to the typical sarcastic, condescending ones I give people when they’re angry at me for something ridiculous). My efforts did not avail and he continued on mouthing off things to himself while failing to inform me that roof racks will not fair nicely through their machine. Not to be influenced by his bad day, I turned up Devotchka, put on some sunglasses and relaxed as the world disappeared through the foam on my windows.

It’s one of those car washing machines where you put your car in neutral and you get pulled through a corridor of sponges, brushes and foam. I’ve always found them very soothing. I believe it has largely to do with being engulfed by this massive machine and coming out the other end all nice and clean. I go through them sometimes, even when my car is already clean, just for the experience.

This time around wasn’t nearly as nice as the other times. About half-way through the wash, a loud clunk pierced through my already loud music and a look through my rear-view mirror informed me that my rack had just been ripped off. At first I didn’t believe it and tried to convince myself it was somebody else’s rack… A quick glance through my sun-roof proved me wrong. Since I was pretty much stuck there for the reminder of the wash, I turned up Devotchka even louder and relaxed as much as possible before having to frantically run into the office to tell them to stop the machine before other cars go through it.

They stopped it and I got my rack out. Surprisingly enough, it was still in one piece. I now condone Yakima Racks. My car, on the other hand, now has multiple dents, scratches and dents with scratches all over her once virgin body…

The Buddie and I are now taking shots of shitty vodka.

Oh and on an unrelated, slightly positive, yet completely worthless, note, if I got a quarter for each random pair of bare tits that have been aimed at me while driving down the streets of Long Beach, I would now have 50 cents. This town likes to flash.