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March 27, 2001

We're at the car wash, the one on Vine that has the $6.99 specials on Tuesday and Thursdays. 

   

This is not the place for earth shattering revelations, right?  No, not really, unless you're pathetic dumbass me.  He had bugged me for days to get my car washed.  I'm one of those people that will take my car to the car wash maybe once every three months, and that's if I think of it on the day that I just happen to have nothing else to do. 

  My excuse is always that I don't have the money to piss away on a car wash, and I'd rather wash it myself.  Which is true, except that I'm a lazy ass, and when I have the time to wash the car, I don't have the inclination.  Plus I'm in the school of thought that nobody's gonna break into a dirty car.  A dirty car means there's absolutely nothing worth stealing inside.  Really.  I think it's scientifically proven.

I have no idea why my dirty car bugs Ethan so much, but it does, and it is so much that Ethan grabs my keys away from me and drives it to the car wash himself, tricking me into it by saying we're gonna go have lunch at Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles.

So we've handed the car off to the attendant dude, and we're walking down the aisle with the windows where you can see your little car being scrubbed squeaky clean, and there's a couple of mirrors on the other side of the hall, and I see something out of the corner of my eye.