Setting: A young woman stands at the entrance of a shiny, fairly new Car Wash with a credit-card reader. Behind her is a sign with the menu of services from least expensive to most.
Woman: “What’ll you have?”
Me, pondering the options: “Well, I’d like to get a wash and a wax.”
Woman: “That would be our EXPRESS 1.”
Me, squinting at the description: “I don’t see that it says ‘wax’ anywhere.”
Woman: “It’s our CARNAUBA PROTECTION.”
“Carnauba protection?”
“Yes, It’s a Brazilian wax.”
“A Brazilian?”
“Yes. It’s great stuff.”
Awkward silence.
“So you’re telling me that if I get the EXPRESS 1 with the CARNAUBA PROTECTION, then my middle-aged Toyota minivan with get a Brazilian wax?”
“Yes.”
Awkward silence.
“OK, then.”
“That’ll be $14.”
“Here’s my card.”
She swipes it and hands it back. “Excellent. Wait for me to hose down your front.”
