My massive string of errands this morning (pet store, target, bank, bike shop, vacuum store, etc) included a stop at a car wash. As I mentioned a few posts ago, the hood of the truck was covered in bird shit, and despite the country bumpkin charm, I decided that a dozen white splatters on a dark purple truck was grossing me out.

I had a coupon for a $7 car wash by hand at a place just a block from my house, so I brought it in. Then I became a part of something I didn’t enjoy: I joined a long line of white people in their cars (most of them expensive), waiting for the Mexicans to get on their hands and knees to spit shine the grills and vacuum out the crumbs from that $3.95 Coffee Bean pastry. It freaked me out. It reminded me of when I went to get a pedicure when I was here in March, and how the shop was filled with two kinds of women: Asian and Caucasian. Us caucs sat in chairs, reading magazines, gossiping and laughing. The Asian women sat on the floor, picking at our toe cuticles and scrubbing our heels. I felt like I was part of a larger system of cultural dominance, making the small woman who seemed not to speak any english other than “You like toes?” scrub my feet. When she was done I wanted to say, “Ok, your turn! Now we switch.”

It was a similar experience today at the car wash. All of a sudden there I was, a small cog in the larger machine of socio-cultural hegemony, making immigrants do my dirty work. It was gross. I gave a 50% tip, but decided that I won’t ever go back. Even if it’s more expensive to wash the truck myself, it’s worth it.