Baby Hell Is The Drive-Thru Car Wash

Hank Humor

It’s Memorial Day Monday, a lovely sunny day off with the hubby, and he decides it would be a perfect time to drive my dirty company-car-turned-kid-hauler through the car wash for me on our way into town. I never take the time to do it on my own, as I am either rushing home from work to pick up the baby, or I have the baby in the backseat and I am rushing home to feed him/change him/get him down for a nap.

“Great idea, honey! I need fuel anyways,” I agree, so we pull in to the closest Holiday and fill her up, then head over to the carwash entrance.

Well, maybe it was a good idea, but there are already 3 cars in line ahead of us, we have an impatient 1 year-old baby strapped in the backseat, and this mama hasn’t had breakfast yet.

“No way,” I declare, “this is not happening today.”

“But I have soap all over the mirrors already,” my sweet, well-intentioned hubby informs me, “so we’re committed! It will go quick-it’s all good.”

Famous last words.

27 minutes and a whole tub of cheddar cheese lil’ Crunchies later, we finally pull into the carwash. I wrap up my rant (that lasted the last 10 of those minutes) about why on earth the old lady in front of us in the immaculate Chevy even needed a carwash anyways! Doesn’t she know her pickup isn’t even dirty? And that it really pisses off the people behind you in line who actually do have dirty cars that need washed and have to wait for your sparkling Silverado to get 9 minutes of hydro-therapy? And can’t she imagine that there might be a BABY in the Tahoe behind her who really REALLY hates sitting in a car that isn’t moving?

“Yay, this will be fun, Hankers!” I exclaim as happily as I can to the wide-eyed baby in the backseat, as the door lowers behind us.

WHOOOOSH WHOOOSH WHOOSH. The rocker panel spray kicks on, full-bore, and Hank has about a two-second delayed reaction before-WAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

“THIS is why I never wash my car when the baby is in it, honey,” I growl towards the hubs through gritted teeth.

“Oh, he will like it, kids love car washes! He will love the soap!” Hubby the optimist says, cheerfully, and I turn around in my seat to try to soothe the demon baby screaming in the car seat behind me.

Rinse Cycle:

Baby’s screams of terror grow in volume in direct proportion to the proximity of the spray arm to his window.

Soap Cycle:

Baby does NOT, in fact, love the soap. Wrong-O, daddy.

Rinse (again!) Cycle:

Baby has not gotten any happier about the typhoon of water circling his car bubble, yet again.

Colored Soap Cycle:

Seriously? The plain old white soap wasn’t good enough? And surprisingly enough, RAINBOW COLORS do not make him like it any more; in fact, I think he likes it LESS. Judging by the fact that he is turning his own new color, a deep shade of pissed-off purple.


Rinse (here we go again) Cycle:

Baby suddenly stops crying-probably to avoid passing out from continuous screaming- Could this finally be the end? Please be done please be done PLEASE BE DONE- 


Oh for heaven’s sake! But wait – this one is quiet and calming, with a lovely fine mist. Thanks be to God and all that is holy. Baby whimpers-exhausted and defeated. I also whimper, turning back around, and try to massage some blood back into the fingers the baby has had a death grip on for the last six wash cycles of CAR WASH HELL.

Suddenly the light at the end of the tunnel appears, and the exit door begins to open-


Baby, catching his breath, smiles out the window when he sees that it is being sprinkled with his favorite little dots of. . .you guessed it. . . RAINWATER.

Mama needs a cocktail. And a better weather app too, apparently.