The car is pretty clean as cars go. Except for some sauce on the back seat. I’m not sure why crazy Mr. Robinson was making such a big deal. ‘Everything. Don’t be slacking off at the crevices. I want it cleaned and disinfected. Wash the mats, the boot. Do you know how to lift the seats? Good, below the seats too. And oil the doors.

I have allergies,’ he had splutters when I’d stare at him confounded. ‘You disinfect everything. I’ll be paying you four times as much,’ he’d a added on, for possibly the fourth time.

Rumor was that Mrs. Robinson had left him. Perhaps that was making him loco. What do I care? Four times was good.

It was only when I was going to oil the door that things got a bit mucky, with hair and sticky stuff on the hinge. Hey! Wasn’t Mrs. Robinson a red head too?


PHOTO PROMPT © Nick Allen

Written in response to Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers challenge of 30 November 2018.

18 thoughts on “The Car Wash

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