My first time was with an Italian. Of course it was, I’m so cliche. He was older, significantly so, but man, did he know what he was doing. The whole process would sometimes take hours, but by the time we were done, it was clear that it was time well spent. I mean, you’ve never seen my mom’s car so clean. His name was Reno and he was my family’s gardener and defacto detail guy, with whom I first practiced the art of washing cars:
(I’m the “cute little boy” on the right)
What did you think I was talking about? Wow, you’re a perv.
Anyway, if you’re not from LA, you may not get the intimate relationship that we Angelinos have with our vehicles and the people who keep them clean. See, it doesn’t really rain here and when it does, it does so just enough to spread the dust around. So a good car wash guy is really not an indulgence at all, it’s a necessary expense (at least that’s what I tell my tax guy and the IRS).
In the boom years, I used to line up with the Lambos and Ferraris to be graced by the infamous Justin at the Malibu Car Wash & Detail:
This guy is the ultimate car wash pimp. The most beautiful cars in the world roll in and out, all glossed up and squeaky clean, making whatever you’re driving look like a Hyundai in comparison. And although Justin was always perfectly friendly and knows everyone in town, I always felt that if I left without getting the Westside’s best hand job & leaving a fat tip, I may find myself up the Malibu creek without a paddle.
Then I met Gus. He would show up at my office with his guys like a band of car wash ninjas. They made my car so clean it almost made me forget I had kids.
But Gus always had a mother in hospital or a dog that died or a new ailment that needed funding. I was so concerned that his well being would affect my wheel scrubbing, that it wasn’t long before I had become his motorhead sugar mama. Oh god.
Now I’ve come back to earth. I simply go to the place in Calabasas attached to the gas station. I don’t even know any of the guys’ names, and that it probably a lot healthier. And this is Calabasas, so I’m not exactly slumming it:
I still see an average of 3 million in steel by the time I leave. But on the weeks where there’s been a light drizzle, my husband has spilled some Starbucks and the kids cracked open Captain Crunch, I’d give my right arm for one of Justin’s hand jobs or a few hours with Reno.