At the car wash

I’m at Mama’s this weekend for several good reasons. A) Mama has got a bathtub and sometimes a gal just needs to soak, B) a balcony, I have a date with a book and a bikini, C) she lives near the vets and car wash.
It all started yesterday at the wee morning hours as I drove Coco to the vetrinary office. She hates the car apparently and after an hour and a half being stuck in her cage she had made it quite clear to me that enough was enough. The not so little whippet seems to have some mild allergies and asthma but nothing to be too concerned about.
As Mama’s apartment is much closer to the vet’s office and we were experiencing yet another bus strike I decided to drop Coco off at Mama’s on my way back downtown for work. The vet weighed her and she is a whopping 4.3 kilos! I asked him if she was getting fat and that maybe I was feeding her too much (she eats continuously), and his response was “pochissimo” which is Italian for “yeah, a bit”.
So, now we are hanging out here in the “burbs” and I needed to get some food. As I wandered down to the magic Panda I realized that the sun reflecting off the dirty windows made it impossible to see and so perhaps a trip to the car wash was in order.
There’s nothing I enjoy more on a sunny Saturday morning, than having half a dozen impatient Italian men watch me wash the car and wait for me to finish! As usual, there was no “cue” and you just had to approach whoever and ask who was last (I learned this the hard way after my doctor’s appointment). I did this and also paid attention to the many motorcycles that were lining up on the other side (I use the term loosely because Italian’s don’t know the meaning of a line or order).
As I waited some 50 something year old man decided it was time to play a game and he approached my car window and rhymed off at least 5 countries that he was guessing I was from…Finland? nope. Holland? nope. Poland? nope. Russia? nope. Spanish? Are you kidding me? Is this game going to go on much longer cuz I don’t want to miss my turn dude? As usual, he couldn’t guess and I happily rescued the poor bastard with a big smile and “sono Canadese” Oh! Wow, never would have got that one. No kidding.
Once my turn approached I was signalled to go in when I saw some jerk on a fancy red motorcycle try to cut in front of me (I knew he arrived after me). He started to argue that I was not in line to which I promptly told him where to go in my best Italian. Even the gas attendant came to my defence as I happily drove into my stall.
That’s when the fun started of course. I could pretty much figure out what the various buttons meant but I kept getting tangled in those damn hoses that criss-cross above your head! I tried to go as fast as I could but it became a bit obvious to me that I was being watched for every scrub of the brush and gymnastic maneuver I made. (For the record, I had no make-up on and was wearing a t-shirt and track pants and sneakers…hardly worth watching unless you’re a fan of I Love Lucy episodes.)
But then the moment of blondness arrived and as I proceeded to back out of my stall, careful to avoid the growing cluster of vehicles behind me, when I nearly took a long blue hose with me as it decided it wasn’t ready to part company with me and attached itself to my side mirror! How embarrassing! Luckily my window was open and I could hear some guy yelling at me to wait as he freed the menacing hose from my car. “Grazie mille, Ciaaaaaaaaaaaao!”
FYI: this video is for my male readers : )   and…this was not even close to my live version which involved tripping over hoses and my best Lucille Ball impersonation thus far!

About lmarmstrong66

I'm a blogger, painter, writer, singer. For the love of all things in nature and creativity.
This entry was posted in Italian Culture, Mama and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to At the car wash

  1. Lori Dyan says:

    FYI, I love these glimpses into another culture, especially through the eyes of a Canuck 😉

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.