Spiders Are Gettin' Twenty Dollar Car Washes

With law school now complete, and the lease on my St. Louis third floor walk-up ending in late May, today I start the process of phasing out the STL era of my life. I am purging all kinds of law school related documents, selling clothes to the local resale shops, attempting to cleanse the space that has so kindly housed me for the last 2 years, and packing up my gasoline chugging SUV to the gills with books, clothing, appliances, and any and all other possessions that I belive will have some function during the inception of the Chicago era of my life.

In preparation for tomorrow's drive to Chi-suburbia, I took care of the aforementioned eco-not-so-conscious Jeep, by giving it some internal medicine (Xpress Lube) and a trip to the spa (Clayton Car Wash) for a bath, massage, and some new perfume. After being duped by a particularly well spoken Xpress Lube sales associate / lubrication technician into purchasing some kind of supplemental engine cleaner, I ghost rid my whip over to the car wash. While waiting in line at this Clayton hotspot, I, as requested by the obligatory car wash sinage, rolled up my windows, turned off my stereo, but I did not, nor have I ever, removed my antenna. Does my rebellious nature shock and amaze you?

As my Wilco bootleg was silenced due to the commands of my chosen automobile wash locale, I thought to myself as I so often do, why? Why am I supposed to make my car silent for the car cleansing batallion about to make my envronment-hating silver tank twinkle and glisten? I find this peculiar request to be somewhat farsical, but I acquiesce with regularity. The last thing I desire is to shake up the seemless, well-oiled machine that is the Clayton Car Wash. I pulled my chariot up to the orange cones, ordered myself up an Appearance Pakage for $19.99, and went quickly to the view windows so I could marvel at robotic intricacy that would soon, with an unrelenting barrage of foamy chemicals and high powered H2O, remove all accumulated grime, pollen, and avian urea.

After purchasing my baby powder air freshening square and slipping the terrycloth wipedown warriors a five dolla pourboire, I hopped in my car, eased my way back on to Hanley and headed home to start boxing up abundantly highlighted and marginalia filled law-school case books, a smattering of dusty novels, non-fictions, and other 'reading for pleasure' sorts of literature. (Some of which have actually been read for pleasure, others sans even the tiniest crease in the pages or spine). During the short drive back to the dojo, I returned my windows to the down position. What I did not have to do, however, was re-attach my antenna (becasue I choose to defy this request), and re-activate my stereo. It was on! Could it be that there is a dissenter in the ranks of the cobalt-blue clad car wash employees??

Now, I'm certainly fully resigned to the possibility that while the teenage attendant was in the fuel feind during the wash wiping down the interior (a feature uniqued to the Appearance Package), he bumped the on button with his Windex soaked elbow thus exposing him to the jammy freakout part of a 10 minute version of everyone's favorite Wilco song about yuppies, "Spiders." BUT, it is equally probable that he pressed that button with the requisite mens rea to activate the stereo, just to see what was on. I imagined what I would do were I the one donning the simple yet stylistic logo of the Clayton car wash, were I the one administering the 20 dolla car wash and not the Spider paying for said car wash.

I would hit that button every time without exception. I believe you can tell much about a person by looking that the music they enjoy. Being a music addict myself, the curiosity formed by all those silent car stereos would be far to great for me to withstand. I would cave every time like Pete Doherty in front of a crack pipe or a loaded syringe. Not to mention this auditory voyeurism would certianly provide a modicum of entertainment in an otherwise monontonous employ. I hope that teenager enjoyed the layered, complex tune that heard, because I sure did on my way home . . . in my shiny clean Jeep. . . 20 dollars well spent.