Since I have guests coming into town this weekend, I got my car cleaned.
Since Orange County is the land of No Driveways with Hoses (ahem, or driveways at all) nor Self-Service Car Washes, I paid the dudes that camp out in our office parking lot on Tuesdays and Thursdays to do it.
(noted : Sheryl Crow was not in OC when she wrote, “The good people of the world are washing their cars on their lunch break”)
Like any self-respecting woman would, I tidied up the car before I employed somebody else to clean it. Stuffed some protein bar wrappers in my purse, collected a few almost-empty water bottles, rolled up the yoga mat that doubles as my seat protector after super sweaty runs and threw it with the junk from the back seat (dog leash, softball mitt, flower pot) (yes really) in the trunk.
I was pretty embarrassed – in the way you are when your dentist can tell you haven’t been flossing – to be handing over such a bird-shitted, crumbs-in-the-seat-cracks, windexed-less piece of work to these guys. I mean my poor Dodge was in a STATE.
So I really wasn’t surprised when I came down at the end of the day and they were frantically trying to finish up. I tipped extra generously because I knew the labor required for this job vastly exceeded that of the standard Deluxe Wash.
As I drove away in my shiny, clean car (with all the random shit hidden in the trunk), something in the back seat caught my eye.
The detail guys apparently found a few belongings hidden under the seats.
I still haven’t found the courage to check if that sock is clean or not. Oh and L? Is that your earring?