Washing the Car: A Springtime Epic

So the sun, a symptom of Spring, finally showed itself after a slow start of rain, wind, rain, cool temps, rain, clouds, a hint of sun, and rain. Noticing that the temperature had also risen with the sun, surpassing 80 degrees for the first time this year, I felt obligated to wash my rather dirty car.

The Grape Stratus

Normally I simply use dish soap or mopping liquid, but noticed that my dad had a bottle of honest-to-goodness [brand name withheld to discourage litigation if for some reason a corporate big-wig just happens to come across my blog while looking for market research or possibly porn] Car Wash concentrate. Excited by my find, I moved my car into position (away from mom's rosebushes and the newly planted lawn), unraveled the hose, armed myself with a car washing mitt, and mixed the Car Wash concentrate with some water in a bucket that was nearby.

As I put the lid back on the bottle of Car Wash, I noticed the Cautions and Directions on the back and paused to read it. "Directions: Use on a cool car." Already I had failed, since I doubt many people would describe a late-90s grape-purple Dodge Stratus as a "cool car," but figured cool is in the eye of the beholder. I read on: "wash in the shade to avoid sun." Really? the only reason that I'm washing my car is because of the sun! Somewhat discouraged I continued: "Avoid days with high glare; may cause sun spotting." You've got to be kidding me. "Do not wash car during rain or high winds." They really sell this stuff in Oregon?! So according to the direction on the bottle of high-class Car Wash concentrate, I can't wash my car in the sun, the rain, the wind, a cloudy day, or if it's only a sub-par class vehicle.

Mitt, Hose, Bucket

I washed it anyway, and sure enough, mere seconds after scrubbing an area, it  dried the [can I call it soap?] into a nasty, dribbly film onto the purple paint of my car, as promised. I quickly consulted the bottle, and found the last step to be "rinse car, then dry immediately with a chamois." I don't know about a "chamois" but my mom gave me the Super-Pack of sham Sham-WOW! for Christmas (not the name brand, but a knock off that lacked the criminal, annoying spokesperson), so I figure it will do the trick. I finished washing the car, rinsed it, and noticed that the icky dribbly film, while no longer being 3-dimensional, had imprinted itself on every surface of the car, including the windows. "No problem," I thought to myself as I whipped out the sham-Sham-WOW! As I unfolded the brand-spanking-new cloth, a bit of paper fluttered to the ground. Curious, I picked it up. "Instructions" the heading read.

By this point you'd think I would have had enough of reading directions, but I went ahead: "Before using  your sham-Sham-WOW! product, thoroughly soak with water and wring out." Huh? But I wanted to dry my car with it, do I really need to get it wet? Isn't that contrary to the point? Hesitantly I approached the car with a dry piece of sham-Sham-Wow! It soaked up the water, but the mess of film still remained. Ok, they must have really meant the "get it wet first" part (though I had just gotten it wet, it apparently didn't count). I went into the kitchen, thoroughly soaked a different piece of the Epic cloth, and confidently strode up to the car. This time it didn't even soak up the water, and the streaky film was beginning to mock me (in a way that only triumphant inanimate objects can do). By this time the sun had disappeared behind some clouds that had wandered in to watch me fight with washing my car, snickering to one another and apparently inviting friends, as more clouds came to cover the sun and give one heck of a glare to the sky. Sure enough, as the label warned, this immediately crusted the streaky film onto my car to the point that even rescrubbing it failed to give a nice clean shiny spot.

sham-Sham-WOW!, Car Wash liquid,
Blue Rag of Awesomeness.

Grumbling and glaring myself, I returned to the hose and soaked the car, mixed some "no-streak" dish soap in the bucket with some fresh water, and began quickly scrubbing with the soap, rewashing the entire apparently-not-cool-enough-for-real-Car-Wash car. Once finished, the shine of the sparkly grapish paint shone through a mere watery film which began to dissolve under the friction of my old hospital-issue blue rags (remind me to tell you about these sometime, they are the best darn rags ever!!), just as the sun began to hide behind the tall pine trees that surround the neighborhood, ashamed that it was beaten by such a home remedy.

Smiling at my successful solution to the name-brand Car Wash debacle, I rinsed the contents of the bucket down the driveway, put the hose away, and picked up the bottle to put it back in my dad's garage when I noticed a warning on the bottom of the label: "Do not allow wash water to enter drains, lakes, rivers, oceans, or any other body of water." I glimpsed up to see the last of the soapy water pour down the storm drain of the suburban curb, no doubt poisoning the drinking water for the local pit-bull population that lived further down the street. I can live with that. Then I finished reading the label, "Offer empty container for recycling. If unavailable, throw in trash." Finally, options that I can live with. It's not like I was planning to keep it for posterity anyway.

Neighborhood Pitbulls

UPDATE: The label of the Car Wash also read that "[brand name] absolutely guarantees its products will meet or exceed your highest expectations. If you are unsatisfied for any reason, contact us for a full refund." My highest expectation is that I would remove the cap, rub the bottle 3 times, and a genie (or at least a local illegal immigrant) would pop out and wash my car for me. Somehow I doubt they will grant a refund for that.