A kind of car wash

There are three carparks where I work. An underground carpark, a ground level covered carpark, and one open-air carpark. You can have your car washed daily for a few hundred dollars a month, regardless of which of the three you park in. Add another hundred and you can have it waxed every two weeks.

Everytime I go into the underground carpark, as I swipe my card through the gate, I will see a few guys sitting around on cheap plastic chairs, staring at me. They watch every car that comes in. If I go in later in the day, say after 10 am, I will see them scattered around the carpark, cleaning cars. When I drive past, they stop what they are doing, and turn to look at me. Not all of them work all of the time. Sometimes one will be standing around, smoking a cigarette, or slouching on a chair, dozing off, or just standing, bucket and duster in hand, staring into space.

I never see them talking amongst themselves. Apart from a young woman, who is no longer seen now. She was the supervisor, I think. I saw her telling the men what to do. Pointing at cars, pointing at wheelcaps, sometimes with her hands on her hips.

I never see them smile, either.

These guys, they don't wear uniforms. They wear short sleeved polyester shirts, t-shirts, trousers, tracksuit jackets, in various shades of grey, off-white, dark blue, more grey, light brown. Some wear sandals with or without socks, some wear trainers, some wear flip flops. Even in winter.

Ex-cons? Care in the community? I do not know.