Claude’s Fear of a Little Dirt Keeps Him at Bay

I just finished having breakfast with the boys at Riley’s Diner not long ago, and I had to run a few errands. My first stop was the old Scrub-A-Dub-Dub, Unity’s do-it-yourself carwash about a half-mile down the road from Riley’s.

I don’t go here to wash my car. Real guys don’t use places like the Scrub-A-Dub-Dub. We wash our cars in our driveways, with a bucket, a sponge and a plastic bottle of Joy dishwashing soap, the way God intended it to be done. We don’t need high-powered hoses from the ceiling that dispense your soap, wax and tire cleaner all with a few clicks of a knob. I’m just here for the quarters.

I been collecting them state quarters for some time now. Pretty soon I’ll have all fifty, and one day the whole mess of them will be worth at least twelve dollars and fifty cents. The fastest way for me to get a hold of stack of quarters is to head to the Scrub-A-Dub-Dub and drop a twenty into the change machine. For some reason, the attendant don’t cotton to this. So I try to pull into one of the bays on the far end while he’s busy helping customers on the other. I’m nothing if not considerate.

So I’m hurrying back to my car with my pants pockets filled with quarters, wishing I had buckled my belt a notch tighter, when I hear this voice come out of Bay Four.

“Hey, Brother Carl, you wash your car here, too?” Turned out it was Claude Aycock, one of our deacons at Unity First. He’s standing in the bay next to a sparkly clean deep blue Lincoln Town Car. Looks like the newest model as far as I can tell. Claude’s manager of the parts and service department at Nova Ford here in town, so he gets a break when he buys a new car there.

“Nah, I just like to collect them state quarters, and this is a great place to grab a bunch of change quick,” I tell Claude, “as long as the attendant don’t see me. Used to go to Handy Randy’s, but the manager won’t let me make change anymore.”

“So that’s why your picture’s posted behind the service desk,” Claude said. “I thought maybe you was taking more than one newspaper out of the machine again.”

“That was all a misunderstanding. I never saw anything that said you couldn’t take more than one. Anyways, I finally started coming here because you wouldn’t believe how long it took me to find the right quarters buying one pack of Doublemint at a time. I don’t even care for gum.”

Claude was using a chamois to wipe some lingering water spots from his windshield. “Never knew you was a numismatist.”

“I have trouble sleeping now and then, but what’s that gotta do with collecting quarters?” Claude didn’t respond so I plowed on. “So why’re you hanging around here? Your car looks all clean.”

“That’s just the thing,” Claude said. “It’s perfect. Never looked better. If I drive it back to work, it’ll just get all dirty.”

“All cars get dirty, Claude.”

“But the Lincoln Town Car, it’s a good car. Actually, it’s more than good. It’s about the greatest car ever made,” Claude said. “I want everyone to own one. And not just because I get a referral bonus. If people see the dirt, they may think the whole car’s inferior.”

I was growing a bit agitated here. “Just because you get some dirt on your car don’t mean people think the manufacturer makes a bad product. People know that sooner or later, a car’s gonna get dirty.”

“Think of all those people, driving around aimlessly in their cars and not knowing all the benefits that the Lincoln Town Car has to offer,” Claude said. “To think they might look at this car and decide not to buy one because of some dirt, it’s more than I can bear.”

“Claude, for breakfast this morning, did your wife sprinkle an extra scoop of stupid on your cereal? When your car gets dirty, you wash it. People know this life’s full of dirt. What really turns them off is when others try to hide the dirt. Pretending it’s not there and acting like everything’s real perfect.”

I felt like I could make my point better with an object lesson so I scooped up a handful of dirt and flung it on the hood. If Claude could of moved fast enough, I think he would of thrown himself in front of it, sacrificing himself.

“Now leave that mud where it is, and go drive around with pride.”

It was about this time that I realized that when I stood back up, my pants – weighted down with all them quarters – decided to stay down. So there I was, standing there in my boxers. The green ones with the golf clubs on them. On display for all to see.

“So, Claude, want some Doublemint?”