Regular Life

I needed supper, but it wasn’t in the evening’s budget. I scrounged for change and came up with $2.50 in quarters, and then grabbed a dime for good measure. I figured the nearby $4.99 Car Wash place, with all the people it kept waiting every day, would have a vending machine. Surely for $2.60 I could fill my belly.

I had 30 minutes.

Several motorists sat on a grassy hill, smiling, following their cars through the assembly line of sweaty brown-skinned workers — washing, vacuuming, window cleaning, and maybe adding some of that new-car smell. I made my way past happy couples, attractive singles, and an old guy cuddling a chihuahua.

They were too lazy or just plain unwilling to wash their own cars. Perhaps it was just the city’s water use restrictions that held them back. I wondered why the city thought it was better to drive one’s car through an automated car wash, water spraying at high pressure from every imaginable angle, than to use water as-needed from one’s hose sprayer in the driveway.

One final push between a few of the cars in line, and I was through the front door.

The air conditioning was a welcome change.

Nobody was behind the sales counter and there were no vending machines. I peeked around the corner to a waiting room down the hall. There stood a soft drink machine and a few dispensers that spit out a handful of candy for two bits and a turn of the crank. There was another wall in that room that I couldn’t see, so I scurried down to take a look.

Instead of a vending machine with granola bars or peanuts, there were two couches and three chairs filled nearly to capacity.

One candy dispenser had just enough M&M’s left in it to form a loose dotted line around the sides, and the others were brimming full of Runts and Skittles. Tasty treats, to be sure, but nothing that would hold off my hunger.

I walked out the nearest door and headed west. A black SUV, shiny as it emerged from the car wash, jerked to a stop, its driver obviously unsure whether I was going to run in front of it. I waved a hand and mouthed, “Sorry,” as I sprinted across the asphalt to an adjacent construction lot.

Black soil from former corn fields, disturbed by backhoes and bulldozers, harbored fire ants that made my sandaled feet nervous. I kept up the pace to avoid any stings. It occurred to me that in some countries a walk across a vacant lot could be mean much worse — a land mine blowing off a leg, for example. I’ll take the fire ants, thanks.

Then I thought, Why waste my money on over-priced vending machine food? There was a Chick-fil-A across the road. I didn’t like crossing four-lane highways on foot, so that was out. Maybe the RaceTrac convenience store just a quarter mile down the road would have something.

One of the machines near the construction office’s trailer bore the name, “Wacker.” I laughed as I always have at that word, regardless of context. In that respect, no matter what I go through, I suspect I’ll always be an adolescent boy.

The RaceTrac parking lot was full of commuters fresh from their day jobs taking advantage of the lowest gas prices in the area. I wondered how many of them would use the rail system if it ever extended that far from the city. I weaved through the mass of waiting vehicles — engines and air conditioners running — and into the double glass doors.

Directly in front of me were large, sleeved cookies peeking out through cellophane windows. They sat on a warmer. “Only 99 Cents!” bragged a red sticker on each package. White Chocolate chips and Macadamia or not, it wasn’t in my budget.

I wandered around looking for foods containing protein. The protein bars were too expensive. Hmm… here’s a section with frozen Tex-Mex foods individually wrapped. I grabbed the shredded beef quesadilla. A bespectacled store employee wiping down counters caught my eye.

“Excuse me. Is there a microwave on the premises?” I asked.

She smile and her eyes brightened behind the thin lenses held together by wire frames. A few freckles adorned each cheek, just under her eyes.

“Yes, sir. Right there behind you.” She pointed, her stained white rag continuing forward with momentum and then swinging back.

“Well, all that took was a little looking,” I said. “Thanks.”

As I lay the quesadilla in the microwave, it seemed slight for $1.69, and I couldn’t afford to supplement it if I hoped to have a drink, too. I punched the 1:30 button and before it finished I stepped back over to the frozen Tex-Mex section.

Mega burrito, $1.19. It was big. I looked at the label. 750 calories. That should hold me over for a while.

I unwrapped it and set it on a few napkins, then heated it in the other microwave. I wondered whether anyone had noticed the quesadilla I wasted.

Hot burrito cradled in both hands, I asked the four-eyed freckled woman, “How much for just a water?”

“Twenty-seven cents with tax. We have to charge for the ice and the cup.”

“That’s fine.”

I pumped a cup against the ice dispenser a couple times and then pushed the handle marked “Water” above the Minute Maid lemonade spout to fill it.

I had enough left for a sweet finish, so I grabbed the two-pack of Grandma’s cookies for $0.50 and got in line at the register.

On the walk back, a great-tailed grackle whistled and whirred loudly from atop the construction crew’s temporary digs. He turned his bill skyward and stood stock still, as if to say, “This is my territory.”

I answered back, “Yeah, well, this is my burrito.” I took a big bite.

“Ow, shit! Hot-hot-hot!” Nothing scalds like a microwaved burrito. The grackle just stared off into the sky.

Back at the $4.99 Car Wash, I saw wrought iron tables and chairs on a shaded patio. A few people sat watching the Mexicans busily rubbing and scrubbing. Not wanting to make an attractive young lady uncomfortable, I took a seat on the far end of a table next to a middled-aged man.

He had a full head of mostly silver hair and a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper goatee beard to match. His tan was broken only where his Rolex had slipped down to the back of his hand. He wore khaki shorts. On his feet were leather loafers with a weaved pattern on top.

“It’s a pretty efficient system they have,” I said. I wondered if he thought my car was out there along with his. Porsche 911, Boxster, Ford Excursion, Cadillac Escalade.

“Yeah, it is.”

We sat watching a moment or two. I took a few more tentative bites of my scald-rito.

He chimed in. “I don’t know how they usually are on days other than Friday, but they’re sure putting a lot of cars through here.”

“I heard that at one time this was the busiest car wash place in the metro area.”

“Really? I just can’t imagine the staffing nightmare.”

“Oh, yeah, with that many different stations. What do they have…” I counted the teams at work at each machine. “Sixteen just on this side, not to mention the washing side.”

“Just a nightmare.”

I decided to tell how I ended up sitting beside him that day.

“Well, I’m actually waiting for them to finish with my car over at Discount Tires, and this was the first place I could find to sit in the shade.” I left out the part about the walk to find some food.

“Oh really?” He chuckled warmly.

I looked at my Timex watch. “Yeah, and I guess they’re probably ready for me.”

My thirty minutes as a hobo were up. Back to life. Back to reality. My next challenge: how happy would my wife be that her $2.50 in quarters were gone from the minivan’s change drawer?

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