Car washing from an OCD perspective

Errant Drop

“Would you like a beer?  I just have to finish washing my Beamer.  I find that if I angle park it in the garage like this I can get just the optimum position and I’m able to wash it in here year-round.  Generally, I wash it three times a week,” Dave said proudly.

Holy shit, I nearly choked, thinking, with a tinge of guilt, I never wash my car unless I do a drive through at the car wash and, “Yes, I’d love a beer.”

Dave, knowing my likes pulled out a Corona from the orderly fridge in the garage.  He then vigorously attacked the side of his car with a lint free rag in meticulous clockwise circular movements the radius of his forearm travelling the width of the side of the car from back to front in measured paces.

A few errant drops of water appeared under the front passenger door handle, over coming surface tension and yielding to gravity they began their tenuous, but extremely dangerous descent down the side of Dave's black BMW sedan.

Like an eagle spotting a deer mouse while gliding a mile in the sky, Dave, through his peripheral vision saw the first of the drops even before they became a stream.  He sprang to the rear of the garage where with his left hand, for he was ambidextrous, especially under crisis mode, and as the adrenaline was coursing though his blood stream he deftly snatched up his super high volume electric drier in a flash, had it plugged into the safety default receptacle above the work bench before anyone could say “Jack the Bear.”  Almost running to the side of the car, turning the switch to high with only his sense of touch, Dave expertly directed the intense heat to the errant drops all before they had descended no more than 7.3 cm from the door handle floorward.

 All this, to my amazement, happened before I could get my beer to my mouth for one swallow. Dave had in fact marshaled the forces of good against the evils of side-door- water- drip-stain.  I swallowed in absolute awe, and had my hands been free I would have applauded his super human efforts.

Dave finished up.  Gently replacing the power drier to its original box next to the set of folded instructions it had come with, then in sequence he hung his rags, and chamees on a towel rack attached to the wall next to his neatly arranged garden equipment, power washer, lawnmower, fertilizer spreader, air compressor and a meticulous arrangement of hand and power tools on a geometrically perfect peg board. 

 A gleaming drip free Beamer sat serenely in the center of the garage, clean and shining.  Dave stood and stared for a long moment sweeping his gaze in a arc going east to west covering a 130 degrees under the precisely placed non-glare florescent lights. It was clearly a proud moment.  Together, we walked slowly from the garage as the double door glided shut on their well lubricated runners. Our quiet footsteps led into the perfect moonlit evening. 

“Damn,” Dave said as he approached his front door, “look at that smudge on the side of Karen’s car.”