Clown Act

It was a pretty ordinary idea, something many people do once every week or two that requires nothing more than water, a hose pipe and a couple of rags, maybe a plastic bucket. Got the time, the sun is not too bright and the car needs washing. No big deal. Or so I thought.

We have an out of the way spot here that’s good for car washing because it’s off in a corner and next to a water spigot and a hose, with a good ground surface and drainage. I’ve washed my car there a couple of dozen times and seen others doing the same countless times. What’s the big deal? A suddenly irritable and life-like hose that fights back. We’ve all seen hose pipes squirming, jumping around on the ground and spouting water, but it normally doesn’t last more than half a minute before everything is under control. The experience yesterday made me think the hose had a vendetta and wouldn’t stop until I was throughly drenched and brought to the ground.

I should have been on my guard after the first burst of water backfired out of the bucket and shot spumes of soapy water into my face. It knocked my glasses off which promptly fell straight into the bucket of water. Before I could release the lever on the nozzle the hose whipped out of my hands and began a slithering dance around my feet like angry tentacles looking for a grip on my legs. After a few dodges I managed to capture the damn thing and unlock the open nozzle. Head and face wet, glasses in the soapy water and a pulsing green hose resisting my attempt to get it aimed at the car.

Finally managed to get the car wet from top to bottom, but when I casually dropped the hose to the ground it fell in a way that when it hit the asphalt—lever first with the nozzle aimed straight at me—it fired off a high-powered jet of water straight into my chest. I was about ready to run, but side-stepped the blast of water and grabbed the nozzle. By then, the only place not soaked with water was the seat of my pants. Water firmly off, I carefully laid the hose in a place off to the side, tiptoed away and began to wash the car with a soapy mitt. Both soap and mitt were more agreeable and I managed to go over the whole car without losing a finger or drowning.

But success breeds complacency and I returned to the hose with all thoughts of coiled defiance forgotten. In the space of a breath the hose lurched and once more spit in my face. If at that moment a pair of hedge clippers had been handy I would have snipped the rubbery demon into parts. It was like an evil television program with me as the sacrifice. I considered the option of giving up the spiteful hose and wiping the suds off with towels, but decided I couldn’t let the hose get the better of me…

Everybody has foolish moments.

With obvious reluctance the hose did its job for the next few minutes and I was just about ready to turn the water off and begin wiping the car with towels. I noticed some soap suds around the license plate and aimed a final spray of water in that direction, but at the last moment the green monster found a way around my ankle and tripped me up. With wet asphalt and a slippery pair of Crocs my feet went out from under me and I did a pratfall onto the seat of my pants, by now definitely no longer dry.

Solidly defeated, I moved my car and myself away from the spiteful hose pipe. Next time I’m going to a carwash.