Car Shop *Based on a Dream*
Bending down, I set the greasy wrench down on the floor, and picked up another one in a
different size. My muscles were sore and tight from all the work I was doing today. My overalls
were covered in the sticky black grease, and wiping my hands on them made it worse. I looked
back to the car that was perched on a lift. A crimson red Shelby Cobra GT 500 Hardtop. Standing
under the car, I started back on my work of fixing a tire. The old man, Wayne, was at the front
of the car, also doing some body work. I remembered when I first started at the car shop, I had
gotten some skepticism from Wayne.
"A girl? Hmmmmm." He rubbed his stubble on his chin for a minute, "How old are you?"
"Eight-teen."
"You know this is hard work. You need to know what you're doing at all times. I don't
have time to teach 'ya."
Soon I was taken under his wing, and respected as one of the workers. More like his
granddaughter than anything else.
"I'm all done here, what next?"
Keeping his eyes on his work, he responded, "You can clean off the tools."
I sighed, and picked up the hefty red metal box that held our tools, and struggled to
lift them up on the near by work bench. I still wasn't strong, but I proved that I could hang
in there and get the job done. I had been here months now, much to my surprise. The other
members of the all-male crew didn't like me at first, and were all sure I would give up and go
home. They didn't know that I was the daughter of a man who worked on cars. Hours of hanging
around my dad in his shop taught me a thing or two about cars. How to care, detail, restore,
clean, and repair all types of vehicles. It wasn't long before I was taking other guys work
shifts, much to their amusement.
Dumping some yellow cleaning liquid into a bucket, I set it under a hot tap. The water
made the soap foam, and the bucket became heavy. One by one I dropped a greasy, slimy tool in,
and let it soak. The day outside was hot, making my hair stick to my forehead. I re-did my
ponytail because it was falling out, and waited for the grease to lift off the silver wrenches.
Dipping my hands into the hot water, I ignored the scalding my hands were receiving. Swirling
my hands around, I sought for a wrench. Rubbing it with a rough sponge, the grease started to
melt away. Setting it on the counter, I reached for another one.
The whole process took about an hour, and left my fingers a pale, prune-y complexion. The
sweat was now gathering at my hair line, right along my forehead, and I could feel my
deodorant giving out. I sighed, and swiped my arm across my forehead. Cringing inwardly, I
realized I left a grease stain there. A red towel to my appeared to my right, complements of
Wayne, and I fought to rub it off.
"Is it gone yet?"
"Yes, but now your forehead is all red."
Letting out a grunt, I threw the towel aside. All I wanted was to go home and take a
long, hot shower.
"Are you done with these?" A deep male voice questioned behind me. Turning, my heart
doubled its pace, and my vocal cords went into hiding. Jeff was six foot even, with moody
brown eyes. His hair was amazing, a reddish brown that I have never seen before, and hung
nearly to his shoulders. His hand was now currently motioning to my pile of newly cleaned
tools, the other was drawing on a cigarette.
"Y-yes." squeaking, my cheeks flushed a Calypso pink. I watched in amazement as his
bulky arms flexed while picking up the heavy hammers and wrenches, all within one grasp. He
looked gorgeous with no shirt on, and his skin was tanned a nice golden color.
Exhaling a cloud of grimy smoke, he turned back towards me, "Thanks."
Walking away, I noted the numerous freckles that lined his shoulders, all a darker brown
than the tan of his skin. A smile broke out on my face, as I watched him exit the garage. The
sun came through the door making a silhouette of him, bright and firey light against his
dark form. When I tried to suppress my smile, my cheeks started to hurt. I had only had brief
exchanges like this with Jeff only a handful of times, but it was enough to make me weak
at the knees, and my head began to fill with visions of him and I.
AN: I took this from an actual dream I had last night. It popped into my head for some reason.
It was just scary cuz it was one of those dreams that seemed *So* real. I just remember this
guy perfectly. And I remember seeing his freckles for some reason on his back. Oh well, just
thought I'd throw this out there for some writing practice.
Bending down, I set the greasy wrench down on the floor, and picked up another one in a
different size. My muscles were sore and tight from all the work I was doing today. My overalls
were covered in the sticky black grease, and wiping my hands on them made it worse. I looked
back to the car that was perched on a lift. A crimson red Shelby Cobra GT 500 Hardtop. Standing
under the car, I started back on my work of fixing a tire. The old man, Wayne, was at the front
of the car, also doing some body work. I remembered when I first started at the car shop, I had
gotten some skepticism from Wayne.
"A girl? Hmmmmm." He rubbed his stubble on his chin for a minute, "How old are you?"
"Eight-teen."
"You know this is hard work. You need to know what you're doing at all times. I don't
have time to teach 'ya."
Soon I was taken under his wing, and respected as one of the workers. More like his
granddaughter than anything else.
"I'm all done here, what next?"
Keeping his eyes on his work, he responded, "You can clean off the tools."
I sighed, and picked up the hefty red metal box that held our tools, and struggled to
lift them up on the near by work bench. I still wasn't strong, but I proved that I could hang
in there and get the job done. I had been here months now, much to my surprise. The other
members of the all-male crew didn't like me at first, and were all sure I would give up and go
home. They didn't know that I was the daughter of a man who worked on cars. Hours of hanging
around my dad in his shop taught me a thing or two about cars. How to care, detail, restore,
clean, and repair all types of vehicles. It wasn't long before I was taking other guys work
shifts, much to their amusement.
Dumping some yellow cleaning liquid into a bucket, I set it under a hot tap. The water
made the soap foam, and the bucket became heavy. One by one I dropped a greasy, slimy tool in,
and let it soak. The day outside was hot, making my hair stick to my forehead. I re-did my
ponytail because it was falling out, and waited for the grease to lift off the silver wrenches.
Dipping my hands into the hot water, I ignored the scalding my hands were receiving. Swirling
my hands around, I sought for a wrench. Rubbing it with a rough sponge, the grease started to
melt away. Setting it on the counter, I reached for another one.
The whole process took about an hour, and left my fingers a pale, prune-y complexion. The
sweat was now gathering at my hair line, right along my forehead, and I could feel my
deodorant giving out. I sighed, and swiped my arm across my forehead. Cringing inwardly, I
realized I left a grease stain there. A red towel to my appeared to my right, complements of
Wayne, and I fought to rub it off.
"Is it gone yet?"
"Yes, but now your forehead is all red."
Letting out a grunt, I threw the towel aside. All I wanted was to go home and take a
long, hot shower.
"Are you done with these?" A deep male voice questioned behind me. Turning, my heart
doubled its pace, and my vocal cords went into hiding. Jeff was six foot even, with moody
brown eyes. His hair was amazing, a reddish brown that I have never seen before, and hung
nearly to his shoulders. His hand was now currently motioning to my pile of newly cleaned
tools, the other was drawing on a cigarette.
"Y-yes." squeaking, my cheeks flushed a Calypso pink. I watched in amazement as his
bulky arms flexed while picking up the heavy hammers and wrenches, all within one grasp. He
looked gorgeous with no shirt on, and his skin was tanned a nice golden color.
Exhaling a cloud of grimy smoke, he turned back towards me, "Thanks."
Walking away, I noted the numerous freckles that lined his shoulders, all a darker brown
than the tan of his skin. A smile broke out on my face, as I watched him exit the garage. The
sun came through the door making a silhouette of him, bright and firey light against his
dark form. When I tried to suppress my smile, my cheeks started to hurt. I had only had brief
exchanges like this with Jeff only a handful of times, but it was enough to make me weak
at the knees, and my head began to fill with visions of him and I.
AN: I took this from an actual dream I had last night. It popped into my head for some reason.
It was just scary cuz it was one of those dreams that seemed *So* real. I just remember this
guy perfectly. And I remember seeing his freckles for some reason on his back. Oh well, just
thought I'd throw this out there for some writing practice.