How I Broke This, Ep. 2: One Guy and a Garden Hose

Photo provided

By SCOTT SAALMAN
Scaramouch

PODCAST COLD OPEN: I’m Guy Razz, host of this original new podcast, How I Broke This. Not to be confused with that other podcast by that other guy, Guy Raz, called How I Built This, to which I cannot legally claim any connection.

INTRODUCTION: Ineptitude . . . Failure . . . Inanity . . . Stupidity . . . This is How I Broke This.

SFX | CARTOONISH BROKEN SPRING: Boinnnnnnggggg.

GUY: Welcome to my narrative journey about business ineptitude and the failed leaders who failed to learn from their failures. In this episode I share how a reluctance to adapt to a global shift in customer need brought down a small-town, Southern Indiana business stalwart, One Guy And A Garden Hose. With me is its floundering founder Shammy Sprinkle.

SHAMMY: It’s an honor, Guy, to be here . . . well, other than knowing that your only guests are failed, destitute business owners.

GUY: Your failed business was called One Guy And A Garden Hose. Why?

SHAMMY: Well, Guy, because it consisted of one guy and a garden hose.

GUY: One guy?

SHAMMY: One guy, Guy.

GUY: And you WERE THAT ONE GUY?

SHAMMY: I was that one guy, Guy.

GUY: And what was your role as THAT ONE GUY?

SHAMMY: I operated the town’s very first car wash. Before that, people begrudgingly washed their own cars. There was no other option.

GUY: You discovered a consumer need and delivered. You built it, and they came.

SHAMMY: You might say I had a steady stream of customers, Guy.

GUY: Did you have previous experience washing cars?

SHAMMY: I was born with pruned hands, Guy. When I was a kid, my old man made me wash his LTD daily. I could never please him. Never. He’d come outside to inspect my work and say, “Missed a spot.” He wouldn’t even point at the missed spot to guide me. Then he’d return to his La-Z-Boy, muttering “missed a spot . . . missed a spot.” I so wanted to please him! Each day, I took longer and longer to finish the family car. I was in pursuit of an imagined euphoric state of spotlessness and acceptance, yet each day: “Missed a spot . . . missed a spot …”

SFX | SHAMMY VIGOROUSLY BLOWING NOSE INTO KLEENEX.

GUY: This conversation has taken a very unexpected, emotional, dark turn. We might be onto something here, Shammy Sprinkle. Just curious, due to extreme mental duress, did you ultimately murder your old man?

SHAMMY: Of course not, Guy. I loved my dad.

GUY: Darn. Patricide could really help my podcast’s ratings.

SHAMMY: You know, Guy, this talk just made me realize the possibility that I subconsciously opened my car wash at age 24 in an effort to eventually surprise and please my old man with the perfectly washed car.

GUY: Did you ultimately please him?

SHAMMY: He inspected every customer’s car that I washed. He was never pleased.

GUY: Let me guess . . . you “missed a spot”?

SHAMMY: I. Missed. A. Spot.

GUY: One Guy And A Garden Hose had a 20-year run. Ultimately, why did it fail?

SHAMMY: I ignored customers’ complaints about how long it was taking to complete their cars. When I saw a mirror image of my face in the car’s paint, I knew it was thoroughly washed, but then Dad would shout, “Missed a spot . . . missed a spot.” I’d hose the customer’s car down and start over despite the dismayed faces looking out at me from inside the cars. Sometimes they frothed, but that might’ve been due to sitting in their cars in August with the widows rolled up for hours. They’d drive away before I was done, sometimes running over my bare feet. I started wearing steel-toed boots.

GUY: The competition was stiff by then, right?

SHAMMY: Our town had more car washes than Dollar Stores. Tsunami Sam’s. Tidal Wave Tim’s. Monsoon Mary’s. Maelstrom Mel’s. All those fancy car wash chains! Computer technology! Conveyers! Uniforms! Mascots! Air dancers! Their touchless hot air dryers killed the art of the chamois. The Water of Life Chapel and Car Wash simultaneously pumped out a hundred clean cars and souls on any given Sunday. How can a front-yard, mom-and-pop car wash compete with Simonized souls and salvation, not to mention Barbarella’s Bikini Car Wash catty-cornered from the chapel?

GUY: There you have it, listeners. A father, a son, a failed business. Shammy, are you sure you don’t want to murder your old man? I can preempt airing this episode until you do.

SHAMMY: Sorry, Guy. Dad’s already dead. I forgave him on his deathbed for all the missed-a-spot mental abuse inflicted on me. Guess what, Guy? Just before his final breath, his eyes opened and he whispered, “Son, you were the world’s best car washer. I never saw a whiter shade of white wall tire. Your metal bumpers shined like the Pearly Gates. I kept saying ‘missed a spot’ to toughen you up and make you even better at your trade, you dumbass. You never ever MISSED A SPOT, Son.” Then he died.

GUY: Classic “A Boy Named Sue” brand of parenting. So what is in the cards now for a washed-up car wash entrepreneur like Shammy Sprinkle? What now, Shammy?

SHAMMY: Guy, I’m tempted to apply at Tidal Wave Tim’s. I really dig their uniforms.

Contact: scottsaalman@gmail.com. Buy Scott’s books on Amazon.