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Suds and cappuccino don't mix

October 8, 2003

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You don't go to petrol stations to have an evening meal, so why would you go to a car wash for coffee, asks Pip Vice.

I like to go to cafes and have a frothy caffelatte, cappuccino or short black. I like to sit in the company of strangers and people-gaze.

I like the design of a Lamborghini Countach, a Jaguar XJS and an Alfa Romeo GT Junior 1.6. I was even tempted to try out the new Mini Cooper.

What I don't like, and what really does not mix, are the two placed together. Coffee, car wash and carbons are not my idea of a good cafe.

Gone are the days of hopeful kids knocking on your door, beach bucket filled with soapy water and a sponge, asking you if you want your car washed for a few pennies.

Gone are the days when dad and his son would go to the local garage (to escape the in-laws and the clearing up of the Sunday roast) and use a coin drop car wash in under 10 minutes.

Everyone had fun. Your time was limited as you had to quickly wind up your window and sometimes hop back into your car before the automatic car washers started spraying out water once you'd put your token in the slot.

When the mechanical tendril-green sponges started washing the car, you could pretend you were going to open your window (to the excited scream of your little brother's "No!") or that the sponges were aliens from planet Sudz.

In the sanitised, remote and child-free adult car wash places now, there is no fun, no bonding and no imagination.

The wash takes six times as long and you are not even near your car. Instead, a squad of cleaners sterilises its interior and exterior with a bee-like activity - all clad in bright red T-shirts and baseball caps.

The cars are treated better than most customers at a beauty spa.

What's more, none of these cars need a wash in the first place. They are gleaming and shiny and buffed before they even get washed.

You never see an old VW camper van or 2CV waiting patiently in this queue for the car wash or a Valiant with its own ecosystem breeding beneath the child seat (a thriving eco-city established around a long-dropped Tiny Teddy biscuit).

You never see rusty cars with sunbaked mulberry-coloured bird droppings on the bonnet or spider's webs merrily woven around the wing mirrors and back windscreen wiper.

The cars that are taken to these places are kept in secure lock-up garages. They only enter the elements when they are being driven to and from the car wash cafes.

When I open my car door I am greeted by the smell of the beach. Sand is ingrained in the side of the door and leaves and gravel decorate the floor.

This reminds me that instead of sitting in a clinical steel-grey cafe sipping mediocre coffee while waiting for my car to be cleaned, I have been outdoors exploring and living with my family.

I would never go to a petrol station to have my evening meal, so why would I want to go to a car wash and wash it down with a coffee?


