I have no idea why I think the things I do when I think them.
Some 40 years ago, a boy I had a crush on talked me into working at a car wash during the summer. A lot of the "cool kids" worked there. Back then it was cool to have a job. Weird huh?
Well, of course I applied and of course I got the job..Johnny had paved the way. (BTW, Johnny and I never got together)
The car wash sat on a main thoroughfare in Santa Cruz, CA. The cars were lined up at 8 am and didn't stop until 7 pm. All kinds of cars..nice cars. Cadillacs, Corvettes, Lincoln Continentals. Cars I knew I would never have, could never afford.
Back then, you did the job and you did it well. It was a matter of pride. We had all been raised to do our best at whatever we did. Plus, the owner would yell at you if you screwed up - a great motivator.
It was grueling work. My job was windows. I cleaned windows all day long. My shoulders ached at night. At the end of the line there was always some old coot, pointing out wet spots and streaks, we smiled and fixed the problem.We didn't give attitude. Attitude was not our job. Taking care of the customer was our job. We all received 2.75 an hour plus tips and back then, you were rolling in dough with that wage.
On to the big 'D'.
When the cars first came through the line, they'd wax-write preferences on the windshield. WWM was wash, wax, mats-SP was "special" which, was the works, that sort of thing.
I know I am long winded. Almost done.
Remember I'm on windows. While the car is making its way through the wash I'm on the inside, then I jump outside to finish the job. I have to communicate the code to the finishing crew before I complete the windows. (Find a car wash crew to do that simple job these days, but I digress).
So, once I forget and wipe the window down before communicating the code. I look for the owner to confirm what he had asked for and I identify him quickly. He looks old to me, at least 70, but, anyone over 20 looked 70 to me back then. He had his hands in pockets, strutting chicken like as he peers at the work the lowlies have performed.
I politely tried to confirm what he had ordered. " I had a Big 'D' " he says.
Well, I had never heard of this code, but I'd never tell a customer that, it just wasn't done. " A big D sir?"
" Are you stupid, or what?" He says. "Yes. A big D"
I was mortified. I ran to Johnny and told him I had upset a customer that had a big D on his windshield.
Johnny laughed. He not only laughed, he told others on the end of the line what I was upset about. They laughed as well.
You don't know what the big D code is, he asks. It means the guy is a Dick!
