The $85 High End Car Wash

The heavy iron doors of the Sparkle Palace Automated Oasis slam shut with the finality of a hydraulic vault. Outside, the sky is clear. Inside, darkness falls like a velvet anvil. You intended to purchase the seven-dollar basic wetness. However, your thumb, greasy from a half-eaten gas station cruller, slipped on the touchscreen. You selected the Triple-Platinum High End Car Wash.

The ordeal begins with the scented foam. Nineteen distinct hues of thick chemical sludge erupt from the ceiling nozzles, blinding the windshield. The smell of artificial boysenberry, burnt vanilla, and lavender-infused leather fills the cabin through the air vents. Each layer of foam settles with a wet, heavy thud.

Suddenly, the mechanical arches overhead tremble. A simulated tropical thunderstorm activates. Artificial monsoon wind blasts the doors while localized lightning flashes in pink and lime green from the LED bars. Strobe lights pulsate in perfect sync with a bass-heavy MIDI rendition of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

You sit trapped in the driver seat, gripping the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turn white. A tiny robotic arm reaches down from the rafters and gently applies an organic avocado glaze to the windshield wipers.

Underneath the chassis, sixteen high-pressure water cannons scrub the muffler. Automated stiff-bristled brooms attack the tires, buffing the rubber treads until they achieve a high-gloss, mirror-like shine that reflects your own terrified eyes. A velvet curtain damp with rosewater sweeps slowly across the hood, whispering synthetic compliments through a small speaker mounted near the pay kiosk.

Thirty minutes pass in a blur of laser beams, citrus steam, and classical overtures. The final dryer fan roars like a jet engine, blowing away the last remnants of liquid platinum wax.

The heavy exit door slowly lifts. Sunlight floods the cabin once more. The sedan glides into the parking lot, completely spotless, glowing with an eerie, unholy radiation. You look down at the paper receipt resting in the cup holder. Eighty-five dollars. You stare at the dashboard clock and ponder how you will explain this financial ruin to your spouse.

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