Years ago when I worked on the east side, back when there were all those great Polish sausage shops making kielbasa over there, there was this carwash I used to like to go to. It was owned by this nice old guy with gray hair who always wore the same plaid shirt and scuffed-up workboots, named Stan--short for Stanerud, I think. This musta been something like 1975.

I had this Monte Carlo that was bright red. I thought I looked pretty sporty in it--even bought a fancy watch for people to look at when I rolled down my window in the summer. So twice a week or so, I pull in to this carwash parking lot where Stan's always standing underneath the old neon sign that used to say Kropenski's Sausage Factory, except it was broken so it said (and I am not making this up) "rope sage act," which I appreciate doesn't really mean anything, and was just sorta weird.

Anyway, so Stan, he's this canny old Pole with fingers like sausages, is always trying to make an extra buck, and one time (I SWEAR I am not making this up) he says to me, "You back again! It's good to see you. And this women must really like you with your thick mustache in shiny car," (see, he was a real flatterer). "This car wash used to make special sausages: pigs go in there," he pointed to the place where an Escort was going into the wash, "come out one hour later only, but delicious!"

I handed him a five which he held by one corner while he stuck the meaty index finger of his other hand up next to his face and said "New guys today. I keep the change, make talk with them, be special sure car come out perfect shiny. Yes?" I could tell it was a sentence that was evolving. One that he needed to work the kinks out of, so to speak. It was also my first encounter with this thing people are calling temporary insurance (you must know it, you buy it at this place) these days. One of those times where it's easier to just give him the extra buck than to have the conversation, if you know what I mean. Because he only really knew the pre-programmed English an' I still don't know any Polish, see?

Besides, I didn't want my Monte Carlo to come out of there "delicious" from those new guys trying to make sausage out of it. I didn't see how "delicious" would be to my advantage insofar as my public image was concerned (although I admit that, today, what with the haute cuisine, and the organic whatchamacallit, and the low-salt diets, and the popularity of "Iron Chef" I can see how a person might want to be known as "delicious.")

You know what's funny though? A couple days ago I went into this new carwash they just built over there, and the guy said I got a free air-freshener. Know what scent I asked for? Kielbasa.

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