car wash, yeah

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It's a sunny afternoon in snoburbia, and there is only one place to be: at the car wash. (Who knew?) But not just any car wash. People from all over Potomac, Bethesda and Chevy Chase make the trek to the nice car wash, the Flagship car wash on Rockville Pike. It is hopping with Lexuses (Lexi?), Mercedes, BMWs - oh, and my dented, nondescript, 8-year-old minivan.

I've only started washing my car regularly because I now have a snoburbia - t-shirts for the overclass magnet on the back, and I thought it would look suspect on a salt-covered, dusty van.

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Back in 2002, on the first day of the Washington sniper attacks (which terrorized all of us for weeks,) it was reported that a woman in my model of minivan was killed at a gas station a few blocks from my house. Hearing this, my brother-in-law was at first alarmed, but then realized it couldn't possibly have been me: The woman had been vacuuming out her car.

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Comments

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