The Case of the Crack-Head Car-Wash

By Citizen Smoke
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Warning — I’m Used to Writing Short Stories! This Will Be Long!
So, for the past month or so I’ve been trying to do some off-and-on surveillance of a nearby carwash in town. It’s one of the DIY types where there are several open-ended bays with machines and hoses in them; a roof, a couple walls, some drains… that kinda thing. I had noticed this group of guys that hung around the carwash — same 3 to 5 fellas, no cars, sat around all afternoon/evening/night long sometimes. They dressed the typical “banger” look, that “thug” aesthetic so popular today in poor communities. I even watched as a few cars would pull in, talk to one of these people, then pull out, no car washing. I was suspicious.
Hobo Harry On The Case
So, I started watching. I’d take note of who was there whenever I passed (which I did at least once a day). About two or three times a week, I’ve been dressing up in my “hobo” outfit, rubbing some dirt into my face and arms and hands and such, and meandering the area. Sometimes I parked about 10 blocks away and walked over, usually I’d walk from my house to a nearby low-income area and then wander down 6 blocks. My outfit for these instances includes worn out shoes which I place a piece of landscaping bark in so that I consistently have a realistic limp in my right leg and an excuse for the crappy old walking stick.
I mumble and fidget to myself when I dress like this, so I seem less approachable. I use my best Southern-poor accent when I spare change some people I’m sure won’t give it to me and was offered a swipe of some gin instead one time. I’ve even been eyed by passing patrol cars and had one officer (I didn’t recognize him) tell me that I couldn’t “sleep on that bench” when I stopped for an equipment check. I totally had this character down. I lack any useful camera, though, so everything had to be either remembered and jotted down out of sight, or just written on my arm while I pretended to scratch at it. I got times, dates, plate numbers, descriptions… I was building a little personal file of scratched down data.
Calling It In
A couple times I was sure I’d seen something off happening, walked to the McDonalds down the block, got some water (for show), went into the restroom and called in a “suspicious activity” report anonymously (citing “fear of life and limb” just in case). Three times I called in, three times the police show up and spend some time checking things out, but no arrests. Once I even watched Grady (one of the K-9 unit animal officers) sniff about, to no avail.
I was flustered, to say the least. I thought it must be more involved, some kind of two-step or three-step process. Go to the carwash, give them the location, go to your location, hand over the money and get your drugs from the fellow in the next car over on your way out. Something all “Cloak & Dagger” like that. Smarter than street-slinging, but only just. I thought “well I’ll just have to park inconspicuously and tail someone to find out”. I never seemed to get anything from that, either. I won’t bore you with the completely stupid amounts of time I spent watching people just sit in front of a TV.
My resolve wavered.
Time to Clean the Smo-Car!
Finally, today, after leaving early from work (because I can), I decided to wash my car. This was the test , plan-clothed, normal old me. I’d seen them there this afternoon, it was just about quitting time, and only a couple cars were washing. I was sure that I’d be able to get something definitive this time. What they were selling, maybe the process, a good look at the players.
I pull in, rattle some quarters toward the machine, as the one in the white cap and blue coat walks up to me. My nerves flashed a little as he approached, crazy little thoughts bouncing through my head… “Will he offer me crack? Probably just pot. Or will it be ambiguous and I’ll have to ask if he has something? Some ‘sup? you party?’ kind of thing? Shit, what if he recognizes me as the hobo? Will he try to kick my ass or something? I’ll play it off like I’m trying to scam people. I wonder if I should have gotten more quarters.” All kinds of silly shit. Then he talks to me…
Moment of Truth
“Hey man, you wanna get your car washed?”
“… excuse me?” I reply, baffled.
“Want us to wash your car man? Only three bucks and we get you right, shine that Mitsubishi up real good,” he pitches.
“Wait… I’m coming to a do-it-yourself carwash, and you’re offering to sell me the service of washing it for me?”
“Yeah, man! Cheaper then them automatic ones and we do a better job. We got shimmies and shit, too.”
“… so… so this is why you guys are always hanging out here?”
“Yeah, man. The ‘conomy is all messed up! We gotta get some money somewhere, know-wud-ahm-sayin’?” he replies with youthful slang.
Psychologically, this throws me down and knocks the wind out of me. I’ve been suspicious and watchful as these kids — these decent little kids — are out here trying to make a buck while the nation gets so poor that people who used to look down their noses at this guy are now grateful they even have a job. He’s an entrepreneur at the most basic level, and he smells strongly of chemicals and wax.
“Well … well fuck… um, yeah, sure man. Here. Here, just have all these quarters and have at it. I’m going to pick up a six pack.”
The shame burst against my forehead like a balloon, shreds of embarrassment falling through my cerebral cortex. I’d just wasted about a month. “Wait,” I thought to myself… “it could be that they’re doing this, but maybe they sell on the side, too.” I turn around and watch as they quickly start lathering up my little four-cylinder with the soap-brush. They’re smiling and chattering away, completely ignoring me. I realize I must be standing there like Beaver Cleaver or Gomer Pyle, a look on my face that says something incredibly midwestern and white like “Well gol-lee! Heck and tarnation!” Really… this can’t be for real. What the hell was I thinking?
Conclusions
I think it’s time I move on to more important things than this car wash. If it’s even remotely got anything to do with drugs, I’m not going to fix it, and there are bigger fish to fry. I also think it’s time I remember to base my choices more on actual observation, instead of looking to see what I want to see. I wanted to make a difference so badly, I saw what I assumed to be drug dealers.
*sigh*…
Well, at least now I can move on to doing good somewhere, instead of playing the hobo when I don’t need to. So it goes.
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