INTO THE "REAL" SUMMER (Part 24c)

It’s really hard to do this without some sort of timeline to guide me so I’ll relate a few ”interesting“ (at least to me) experiences with the car wash.

There were three ways to get a car wash... 1) pay; 2) basically fill up your car with gas and get it free or 3) have you car repaired or serviced and also get it for free. The most popular was to get it for free by purchasing gas. The customers had the option of driving the car into the car was bay or having one of us do it. As I remember it most of the males drove their car in and stayed inside as the car was being washed. Most of the ladies, for whatever reason, wanted us to do it. I liked that because, since skirts and dresses were the norm for that time period, I’d often get a peek, or what I called a “free show” of the ladies panties as they’d turn in the seat to slide out. I’d say I averaged at least a couple every day we were open. It was nice!

Cliff, the station owner had been right in thinking that he’d get increased gas business due to the car wash. One of the new customers was the wife of the local bank’s President. There was a lot of rumors (small town) about her covering a multitude of things. One that was pervasive was that she was an alcoholic. I’d only seen her at the station early in the mornings and nothing had indicated that condition to me. But, when it manifested itself, it was obvious. It was late in the afternoon and, as I remember it, it had been a slow day as it looked like rain. I first saw her car (a big Cadillac) headed across the apron towards the gas pumps. I distinctly remember “freezing” on the spot as I thought, for sure, the car was going to hit them. Somehow she missed them, stopping in front of the car wash. There was dirt and mud all along the side of the car. She yelled at me that she had to get the car washed. Other than seeing her wild arrival I had no idea she was drunk. I asked if she wanted me to drive the car into the bay for her. That started a tirade of foul language directed at me. “You dummy!” was probably the least offensive thing she said. But, with all that she didn’t move from behind the seat. I looked around for Cliff to help me out but he was no where in sight. I finally got her to slide over to the other side so I could get in. I got the car positioned properly and asked if she wanted to remain in the car and, as I remember it, she didn’t answer. After making sure all the windows were up I started the machine. It was a rectangular hoop that was lowered around the car a total of three times. The first was to wet it and the second spewed out the soap. After that I had to run around the car with this big, soft mitt, scrubbing the car as I went. As the hoop was on it’s way down with the soapy mixture, the woman decided she wanted to get out of the car. There was no way to stop the process without running to the back room and throwing the breaker switch on the electric panel. By the time I got there the damage had been done. The woman was covered with soapy foam... and screaming at the top of her lungs. She wanted to see Cliff and started towards the open door, The problem was that, besides her being drunk, the floor was slippery from the soap. She made about three or four steps before falling. Then, when she tried to get up she ended up on her backside with her legs in the air. Even though she was a middle aged woman, getting not just a peek at her panties but a full view was quite a thrill. I offered to help her but she just kept calling me names and told me to stay away from her. If I were to guess I’d say she fell four times giving me the full picture each time. When she crawled outside and to the back of her car she was really a mess.

Cliff had been on a road call and arrived shortly thereafter. He tried to appease her but to no avail. When he realized her condition (drunk), he called her husband at the bank. I know he didn’t pick her up and I also know she never came into the station (at least while I was there) again.

One of Cliff’s friends was getting married that Summer. His fiancee had a child and his car, a 2 door Ford coupe, just wasn’t big enough. He’d knew someone who had 1954 Mercury. I loved the lines of that car but there was no way I was ever going to have enough money to buy one. But that didn’t stop me from coveting one anyway. Tom, the friend, had gotten permission from the owner to have Cliff and his mechanics check it over. When they were done I asked if I could drive it around to the back of the station so as to make room out front. WOW! I was excited. I remember sitting behind the wheel, fantasizing that I was speeding down the road in it. I also remember looking over all the details... radio, dash instruments, upholstery etc. Ahh... but it was not to be, for me.

Cliff must’ve called Tom to tell him that it appeared to be in good shape because, just as I was about to shut the car wash down for the night Cliff told me to wash the car. He also told me to clean up the floors on the inside as best I could. We didn’t have a vacuum at that point in time so I used a small wisk broom. As I was doing the drivers side I saw something white under the seat. I pulled it out and found a pair of panties in my hand. I checked to see if Cliff or anyone else was nearby before “inspecting” them. The first thing I found was stains in the crotch. It didn’t appear to be pee so that left only one other choice. My immediate thought was that the guy who owned the car was onto something good. The next thing I did was to inspect the label. It read “Mojud” on one side and “100% Rayon on the other. They felt like nylon to me. I wondered just what the difference was. As I spread them out on the floor they seemed a little bigger that Elle’s so I checked to see if the size was marked anywhere else. No luck. My next thought was to stuff them into my pants pocket. In cleaning up the car it seemed like anything of value was gone... nothing in the glove compartment and nothing but the jack and spare tire in the trunk. So that’s where they went... to be added to my collection. The only negative thing was that I had no idea what the girl who’d worn them looked like. A small price to pay. (3)