Working at The Car-wash

By kiki

Watching the 1976 movie "Car Wash" inspired me to write this short story about my days working at Miller's Car-Wash in the early 1950s

In early 1952, I asked my older sister Rachel, who worked at Miller's Car Wash in Whittier, CA. If there was a chance that I could get a summer job there because I wanted to save money to buy my first car, I wanted to meet all the nice lookin' girls working there. The girls were from the local barrios: Pico, Canta-Ranas, Jimtown, Rivera, and Simons - She told me that I had to be 16 years old and needed a work permit from school to get a job there. I informed her that I would be turning 16 in December of that year and that maybe she could say to the owner, Mr. Miller, that I was already 16, "you mean lie for you?" she asked me, "let's call it shading the truth a bit" I replied to her. "I'll see what I can do for you," she responded.

A few days later, she told me that Mr. Miller wanted to see me that coming Saturday morning - I woke up bright and early that Saturday morning, and after grabbing something to eat, Rachel and I left our house in Pico for the car wash. I am trying to remember how we got to the car wash since neither Rachel nor I had a car. But it could be that one of her friends drove us there. When we arrived, Rachel showed me to Mr. Miller's office; I knocked on the door and heard a gruff voice say, "Come in," so I did. Mr. Miller, sitting behind a desk, asked me to sit down so we could talk. The first thing Mr. Miller told me was that he knew I wasn't 16 yet but that if I really wanted to work and could trust me to work hard and not just look at the girls, he would look the other way. He asked me if I could be trusted to keep my mind on the job and not on the girls. I answered him with what I thought he really wanted to hear, "I'm not sure you can trust me to do that" After laughing his ass off, he hired me at 75 cents an hour during the week and $1.00 an hour on weekends. Summer weekends were the busiest days.

My first assignment was on the vacuum cleaners, which was okay, but it was too far away from the girls. Girls were hired to clean the inside of the windows/dashboards. I later saw that Mr. Miller had an eye on Rachel, my second cousins Carmen and Guera, and a couple of friends from Simons, Gloria, and Susie - As time passed, I was reassigned to one of the steam cleaners' trenches. The trenches were about two feet deep, two feet wide, and about five feet long. With one on each side of the cars, we would steam clean the chrome bumpers and the white wall tires from those trenches. 

I worked closer to the girls but was too damn busy to hit on the girls who were not relatives or spoken for. I didn't get a car wash, girl, but I did buy my first car (a 1938 Chevy) before turning 16......I worked at the car wash for the next three years....  by the time I left in 1955, I was married and earning $1.25 an hour...I had a great time working at the car wash!

THE DAY I ALMOST GOT DEPORTED AND BECAME A U.S. CITIZEN

By Arlette Torres

In 2006, I completed an application to become a U.S. citizen.

The process worked like this: I petitioned, was approved to undergo an interview at an immigration and naturalization center and received a date

to appear before an officer, who would decide whether I was fit to be a citizen of the U.S.A. Or not.

I do approach certain things very seriously and this one qualified,

which means I became magnificently obsessed.

I learned I would be tested on history, law and basic constitutional topics.

I bought every guide you can imagine. I studied for weeks with great fervor.

My boyfriend quizzed me relentlessly.

At my request, friends peppered me with random questions.

I mastered the damn thing.

Finally, the date came. I was ready. I had this.

My boyfriend drove us—early— to the interview. But for some reason,

he seemed tense. Nervous. Edgy.

“What’s the matter? You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Are you ready?”

“Me? You kidding? Of course I’m ready. You look more nervous

than me and I’m the one on the slab.”

“Well yeah, I’m nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because. I know you!”

“What does that mean?”

“I know you, Arlette. I know how you are with authority

and I know you’ll say something that’s gonna get you deported on the spot!”

“Please. Get the fuck out. I would never do that. Just breathe. Jesus.”

He didn’t calm down but he did make it safely to the place.

We parked. I got out. He stayed in the truck.

“You coming?”

“Yeah. Just give me a few minutes to relax. I’ll meet you inside.”

I walked in, registered, took a seat among a sea of diverse

human specimens and waited.

Was I nervous? Sure. I was also excited. Pumped. Happy. Ready.

Until officer Davis appeared and called my name.

If you were casting a Western and needed someone to play a sober and law abiding Rooster Cogburn, officer Davis would be it.

He was about 60, sported a military flat top buzz and in contrast, a huge handlebar moustache, yellowed at the curls. Not too tall…maybe 5’11.

Big Texas belt buckle. Booming voice. Liquid, cerulean blue eyes.

The man looked as if he hadn’t smiled since Johnson had turned over

the reins.

I followed Davis into his office, sat down and looked around.

The walls were covered with military posters, awards, certificates, diplomas. Lots of Texas themed décor. Eagles. Helmets. “Semper Fi” in fine calligraphy.

Davis, as expressionless as a heavily sedated man, took a seat at his desk and opened a thick dossier in front of him. I mean, thick. Was it all on me? What was in it? Maybe stuff I didn’t even know or remember. Oops.

“Officer, is that dossier mine?”

“Yes it is.”

“Wow. That’s huge.”

“We are diligent. Okay. Let’s start. I’m going to ask you

a series of questions on a variety of topics.

I will evaluate your answers and all pertinent information.

You will receive a letter in approximately two weeks,

informing you of our decision on your petition.”

Well. The man was, if nothing else, expedient.

He looked down and began asking what I thought were

mundane and factual questions about…me.

Not about history or the constitution or anything

I had studied with great gusto. Just stuff about…me.

I answered respectfully and to the best of my recollection.

But I was starting to get frustrated. Impatient. Restless.

When was he going to start asking me about presidents and constitutional articles and events and dates? I had studied so hard, damn it.

Every fucking day.

I could have been drinking bourbon at Bluestem with my friends, but no. I was home naming 30 presidents, their cabinets

and their mistresses.

Then it happened. Officer Davis asked me a series of questions

that set me off. I thought briefly about what my boyfriend had said.

“You’re gonna say something that’s gonna

get you deported on the spot!”

Fuck it. I am who I am. Let’s get this done.

“Have you ever conspired against the United States of America.”

“No, sir.”

“Are you a member of any organization that has conspired to overthrow the government of the United States of America.”

“No. Sir.”

“Are you a member of the Communist party?”

“No. Sir. Officer.”

“Are you a member of the Nazi party?”

“No.”

“Have you ever committed a crime on American soil for which you were never caught?”

“No. Sir.” What kind of Mickey Mouse bullshit question was that?!

“Are you willing to take up arms to defend the United States of America?”

“YES. I. AM. AND I AM A GREAT SHOT. OFFICER.”

Davis slowly raised his head and looked up.

No smile. No expression.

Watery, cerulean blue eyes staring blankly at me.

Without missing a beat, he asked:

“Pistol or rifle?”

Before I could think, I spoke.

“PICK. YOUR. WEAPON. OFFICER.”

Dammit. My boyfriend was right.

I was going to get deported on the spot.

But instead of cuffing me, officer Davis cracked a smile.

A massive smile.

“Miss Torres. We need more people like you in this country.

God knows we do. I’m going to ask you some questions about

history, constitution, law and we’ll be done.”

“Yes, officer.”

“By the way, you lived in Texas. I’m from Texas. What do you think about people in Kansas City who think they have the best BBQ in the country?”

“Well, I kinda feel sorry for them. They don’t know any better.

And they obviously haven’t had Rudy’s. Texas BBQ is the best.”

Officer Davis winked, laughed and agreed. After the interview,

he stood up, wrapped me in a sincere hug and sent me off with warm gusto.

I don’t remember much else about that day, except that I would add it to the many near-miss moments of my gypsy life.

EPILOGUE

Officer Davis approved my petition. I became a U.S. citizen.

In spite or because of who I am. I don’t know.

All I know is, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be me, than right here.

"Missing You"

In the first eleven days of 2017, we have lost two of our dear pets. One of our doggies, Marshmallow, and our pet rabbit Smoky have gone to pet heaven. I found some solace to help me get through my sadness in this beautiful poem by Colleen Fitzsimmons.

             Poem By Colleen Fitzsimmons - In memory of Shadow

"I stood by your bed last night, I came to have a peep.

I could see that you were crying, You found it hard to sleep.

I whined to you softly as you brushed away a tear,

"It's me, I haven't left you, I'm well, I'm fine, I'm here."

I was close to you at breakfast, I watched you pour the tea,

You were thinking of the many times, your hands reached down to me.

I was with you at the shops today, Your arms were getting sore.

I longed to take your parcels, I wish I could do more.

I was with you at my grave today, You tend it with such care.

I want to re-assure you, that I'm not lying there.

I walked with you towards the house, as you fumbled for your key.

I gently put my paw on you, I smiled and said " it's me."

You looked so very tired and sank into a chair.

I tried so hard to let you know, that I was standing there.

It's possible for me, to be so near you every day.

To say to you with certainty, "I never went away."

You sat there very quietly, then smiled, I think you knew...

In the stillness of that evening, I was very close to you.

The day is over... I smile and watch you yawning

and say "good-night, God bless, I'll see you in the morning."

And when the time is right for you to cross the brief divide,

I'll rush across to greet you and we'll stand, side by side.

I have so many things to show you, there is so much for you to see.

Be patient, live your journey out...then come home to be with me"