Sometimes, I feel like I am jinxed. Small things don’t work out, and then I panic and things get worse. My wife calls them Cam-isms; many are more like stupid-isms or panic-isms. I had a bunch of these experiences over the past month or two. So, here we go. One day, I decided to get my car washed. It was beyond dirty if there can be such a thing. Being a risk taker, I went to a place where you lineup, pick your wash and pay. The gate opens and into the car wash you go. Simple, right?

First, I tried to use a coupon which was a bad idea. I changed course and decided to use a credit card. I quickly got flustered and stymied. I squeezed out of the car and asked the person behind me if he could help. He shrugged, sticking out his arms like a pelican in full flight. With my temperature rising, I motioned for him and the short line of cars behind him to back up, so I could get the heck out. For a split second, I thought of driving through the gate. If I still had my 1973 Ford, I might have. The Ford had been hit by a gravel truck and everything except the tires leaned noticeably to the left. It didn’t have a working fuel gauge, and one time I ran out of gas on the Buckwold Bridge. That was fun. A stupid-ism. A short time later, a friend said his brother was looking for a cheap car. I handed him the keys and said, “Take this one.”

Anyway, when I was out of the line at the car wash, I pulled over. Missing from the passenger seat was my Master Card. I thought I had hurled it onto the front seat. I went into the car wash office and asked a nice young man if anyone had turned in a credit card. He walked back to the entry point and pulled my card out of the machine. He said next time honk your horn if you need help. I went back to the car wash a couple of days later. Given that there was an attendant on duty, I stopped and paid at the booth. Next time, I am going to be brave and try doing it myself. As someone once said, “Sometimes what you are most afraid of doing is the very thing that will set you free.” Please, set me free – and add extra wax to the wash.

*****

That reminds me of another car wash story. This one is recent as well. I bought fuel and selected the option to get a car wash. Lo and behold, the car wash was closed. A couple of weeks later, I went back for gas. I had the receipt that had the code on it. It said it was valid until July. When it was my turn, I pulled up and punched in the six- number code. “Your code is not accepted,” the code guy in the box said. I tried again. “Your code is not accepted. I tried again. “Your code is not accepted.” I mumbled something about knowing this, and to back off, Buddy. I pushed the button on the intercom. A muffled voice said something which I couldn’t understand. I pushed the button again and said, “My code isn’t being accepted.”

I heard her say someone was on the way. I feared it would be the “your code is not accepted guy.” I hate that guy. The guy who came out tried my code, went into the building, and came back out. “Have you used this code before?” Nope. “These things happen sometimes,” he said referring to my code, not my honesty, I think. I said, “Get me through the wash and I will go into the store and pay.” I had looked in my rear-view mirror and saw the lineup of cars growing like dandelions on a lawn. “I trust you,” he said. In hindsight, I should have driven through the car wash. There was no one ahead of me. I have driven through one before, with nary a drop of water touching my vehicle. The people in the cars behind me must have gasped in horror as I barrelled down the tread thing. I forgot to put my car in neutral. In fairness to me, I have never missed getting my tires on the conveyer belt or whatever you call it. Since these occurrences, I have gone to one of those places where you do it yourself. The first time, the “tap” function wasn’t working. I had two toonies in my pocket and beat the four minutes on the clock by a few seconds.

*****

The other day, I was at a busy intersection and couldn’t get my car from neutral into any of the four gears. “Stay calm,” I told myself. I couldn’t do it. I leaned my head onto the steering wheel. “Why me?” After 10 or 20 seconds of horror, I was able to force the car into first gear and limped threw the intersection and onto a side street. Turns out a part named a Master Cylinder for the clutch was toast. Thank you to Ron McDonald and John Miller for getting me back on the road.

*****

Thank you to the employee at Floral Acres who found my wallet and took it to a safe place until I could get back to the greenhouse. I figure if you are going to lose your wallet, a greenhouse is a good place. Flower people are the best.

– Cam Hutchinson