Damn, I miss Mexicans

 

No doubt I will be pegged by somebody or other as a virulent racist for this, to whom I would sincerely and appreciatively say, go fuck yourself.

So here’s why we miss them, and it is only one example.

 

Being a slob, I only take our car to be washed every so often (when Karen finally cannot stand it anymore). But what a difference between where we live now (Beachwood, OH) and where we lived before (Deerfield, IL). And it comes down to one thing:

 

Mexicans. And it's simple. Cleveland doesn't have any.

 

Okay, maybe not none. In the years since we've been here, we have seen two, maybe three if I strain my memory. We have been told there is a tiny enclave somewhere or other but we've never driven through it. I think it’s somewhere between Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest.

 

Anyway, the car wash that we used to go to in Illinois, in the wealthy ‘burb of Highland Park, was staffed almost completely by Mexicans, legal or illegal, I have no idea and I couldn't care less. Besides being friendly, they kicked ass. They did a great job, fast -- they were halfway done by the time I finished paying.

 

The one we go to now is in the wealthy 'burb of Pepper Pike. First, the speed of the line of cars. KeeRiste. I sat for 10 minutes before moving at all, gazing at the post-wash wipe downs in the distance. Eventually, the car was at the threshold of the washing tunnel as I got out.

 

Having seen the car emerge from the external wash some time before my birthday (June), now it’s outside being tended to by, not super-quick, and thorough, Mexicans, but white boys, each one a high school/college kid, well-groomed and sharply appointed in pretty shirts with a two-tone blue wave on them.

 

And I am still watching them (slowly) wipe and (slowly) vacuum, and chat with each other. The Mexicans back in Highland Park seemed to do a good job without needing to chat.

 

And when they were done, it was not a great job. OK by white boy car wash standards I guess, but crap compared to Mexican standards. And Ben’s books were spilled out of his red book box all over the back. The college kid stood there watching me, grinning, as I put them back.

 

I always tipped the Mexicans -- because they deserved it. Fuck the lazy boy. He should’ve tipped me for finishing his job for him.

 

I started writing all this as I waited in line with the other cars at the beginning.

 

I just got back in my car at the end.

 

At least they gave me something to do while they were wasting my time. Bonus points.

 

ADDENDUM!

 

When I got home, I realized I hadn’t put the keys back in my purse -- I had to leave them in the car for the wash. But they weren’t where I’d left them (cup holder). I knew they were somewhere in the car because it won’t start if they're not.

 

So after spending five infuriating minutes searching for the damn keys, practically ripping the car apart -- Huzzah!

 

I have a little roll thingy in the lower back of the car seat for the lower back of my body. I already had looked under it, but when I went into panic mode and desperately started shoving my hand down the backs of seats -- Huzzah! (It bears repeating.)

 

For some reason understood only by brilliant college kids working at car washes, the key chain had been removed from the cup-holder and placed behind and under the seat roll, so it could be pushed way down the back of the seat when my ample ass came down, and now waiting to be extracted by my frantic fingers.

 

I think one’s work ethic at car washes should be considered when they decide which demographic to deport.