Cheek’s Coin-Op Car Wash

3 am.

“Car wash,” Leon says from the backseat of my mom’s Yaris. “Car wash.”

“Oh god man,” from my rearview mirror I see Leon’s head hanging out the door window. “Don’t tell me…”

From where I’m looking I can see his head now hanging out the window for his second turn. The sound of a man choking on his own meals and drinks coming from outside my car.

The radio is playing “My Name Is” by Eminem on Edge 102. McKinney turns the volume up. His eyes are red, and he’s holding his “prizes” that he acquired from Dave and Buster’s that day flimsily in his drunk hands

There’s the skee-ball he put in his pocket from the arcade placed inside the pint-glass he took from the bar in one hand, Christmas tree bead-garment wrapped around his neck, and the Christmas tree he nabbed from the Duelling Piano’s table we started drinking at in the other – decrepit looking after we kicked it around the parking lot.

‘Started drinking at’ is a loose term. McKinney was drinking a 2-4 since 6 pm before I even came around at 9. Leon and Ted pre-drinking beers like madmen.

Who the fuck parties in Woodbridge anyway. There’s nothing to do there except cause shit. The line-ups I saw at Luxy and Berlin of dude-buds and their skanks dressed to the 9’s make me want to cry.

Now here I am pulling up to the red lights at Weston and Albion, trying not to pull up next to any cars so they don’t see this big hairy jew from New York in my backseat throwing up all over the exterior of my mother’s car, and a drunken cleptomaniac sitting shotgun blasting rap music until my heart beats. Not that there was any point, they all have mirrors.

Honestly, I was just feeling kind of numb. Ted had just told me a few hours ago over beers at Wendel Clark’s that I was getting laid of this weekend. I’m gonna be unemployed 4 weeks before Christmas comes up. I wasn’t feeling mad or sad really, but just kind’ve like I didn’t give a fuck.

I turn around to look at Leon, and all over the side window I can see mucous-filled vomit covering my car like the ectoplasm in Ghostbuster’s.

“God fucking damn.”

Light turns green, and I make a turn. Somebody on the street corner screams out “HA-HA!” like Nelson from Simpson’s.

McKinney’s passing out drunk next to me so I nudge him. I can’t remember how to get to Ted’s apartment.

“Car wash first,” Leon mumbles, waving American currency, seated fully back in the car. I get to another red light and brake, Leon slams into my backseat.

“Fuckin guy. Your money’s no good here. Literally.”

He tosses the money at me.

“There’s no fuckin’ car washes open at this time!”

McKinney mumbles something with a drunken smirk, droplets of spittle spewing between his lips, his chin in his chest, face red.

That’s when I remember the coin-op in Rexdale.

I take Albion to Islington, Islington to Finch, Finch to Kipling, Kipling up to Barrhead Crescent (just north of Rexdale Boulevard) and pull into the 24-hour coin-op. Meanwhile I make struggling McKinney search for coins through Leon’s wallet.

“Giselle gave me this wallet,” Leon said as he passed it over.

We wouldn’t have even been in Woodbridge that night if it wasn’t for Giselle. I asked Leon if it was really a good idea to get really hammered before you see your ex-girlfriend. Especially on one of your few trips up to Toronto from the US.

“It’s a great idea,” he said.

Whatever. She lives in Richmond Hill. Woodbridge seemed like a good middle ground, except there’s nothing really to do.

Leon stays in the car as I get out at the coin-op. The ground is wet cement. McKinney stumbles out, trying to put on his jacket and getting caught in it.

I walk around and see the entire wind-blown vomit all over the side of the car in two shades of Rickard’s Red, and poutine brown. The contents of what he had ingested in the last few hours.

McKinney is laughing like a madman, his eyes barely open. “Look at the mess he made!”

“Yea. It’s a really nice mess McKinney. Now how much money do we have.”

2 bucks. All in American quarters. Luckily, American quarters are the only currency that works in coin slots. Also luckily that just happens to be the price on the machine. Nice to know 2 bucks will still clean the puke off your car even when the world is in recession.

Ted gives me a call. He’s already at his apartment parking lot waiting for us. Daniel’s got his keys.

I didn’t feel stoned until just then for some reason.

“McKinney you have the keys to Ted’s apartment.”

He laughs.

“You’re gonna have to wait,” I say to the phone. “We’re at the car wash.”

“How long?”

“Depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“How long it takes to clean off Leon’s puke, and if he does it again.”

As if on cue the door to my back door opens and Leon comes out one arm, one leg, one head, one body at a time. Feet first like a limbo dancer. Hunches over a yellow pillar and starts spitting. A precursor to bad things.

Get off the phone with Ted. Dan and I put the money in the machine and retrieve the hose. We soap all the puke off, then spray it with water. Surprisingly we still have two minutes left so we

~ by Rex on November 30, 2008.