Sweat, Soap, and Customer Delight: A Sunday Plot Twist

Sundays usually follow a predictable rhythm: a long run at dawn, coffee, brunch, and then lunch with my family , where, without fail, someone complains about terrible service. And nine times out of ten, that someone is me. I’ve earned the reputation. If there’s a missing detail, a forgotten order, a waiter with selective hearing , I’ll catch it. My family doesn’t even ask anymore; they just glance at me and say, “Alright, Gerardo… ¿qué te hicieron ahora?”

But last Sunday the universe glitched. For the first time ever, I didn’t show up with a complaint. I showed up with praise. And not for a café I romanticize, nor a restaurant with perfect ambiance. No. My positive experience happened at the least expected place: a carwash.

Before going any further, you need to understand something: I hate carwashes. Not because they’re simply hot , they’re Monterrey hot. The kind of heat where standing outside feels like a punishment. Waiting under 35°C sun in autumn, surrounded by the smell of damp rags and coconut or "Carro Nuevo" air freshener, is not something I’d wish on anyone. Add my mild OCD to the mix, and things get worse. Whenever I stand around waiting, sweating, bored, uncomfortable, I start noticing “details” in my truck I swear weren’t there before: a scratch, a stain, a weird sound. Ten minutes in and I’m already questioning all my life choices.

So yes… I arrived with expectations at –10/10.

But from the moment I pulled in, something felt unusually good. The menu board wasn’t a chaotic laminated disaster it was clean, legible, and actually made sense. The woman at the counter smiled (genuinely) and explained the difference between packages with a calmness I didn’t know was possible in a carwash. Then she said:“If you go with the hand wax, Félix, our specialist, will apply it. He’s the best.”

I didn’t know who Félix was. Still don’t. But the way she said it made him sound like the Messi of wax. And I believed her. That’s the power of storytellinggive a name, a role, a bit of myth, and suddenly there’s meaning.

They guided me to the washing lane, and as soon as I stepped out, two guys approached me like old friends.“¿Qué onda, compa? ¿Cómo estuvo la corrida hoy?”“¿De casualidad corriste en a Chipinque que traes la camioneta muy sucia?”“¿Viste La Serie Mundial?”

Their timing was impeccable. Their energy easy, friendly, human. They explained how they divided the work, how they coordinated like a pit crew, and suddenly those usually painful 10–15 minutes felt… light. Like they already knew what my truck needed and, honestly, what I needed to not hate being there. Every touchpoint felt intentional without being robotic they walked me through the process without making it feel like a process.

When they finished, the truck looked perfect And then came the final touch:“Le pusimos un poco más de cera. Félix quiso que quedara mejor.”

I swear, at that point Félix deserved his own Netflix documentary.

That tiny gesture hit me harder than it should have, because without even trying, they gave me a masterclass in the Peak-End Rule one of the most powerful concepts in psychology. Developed by Nobel Prize winner Daniel Kahneman and emotion researcher Barbara Fredrickson, the Peak-End Rule states that people don’t remember an entire experience they only remember two things:

• the peak  the most emotionally intense moment

• the end  how it concludes

  
  

Everything else becomes background noise.

This carwash nailed both.The peak was the friendliness, the humor, the unexpected confidence in “Félix, the expert,” and the feeling that they genuinely cared.The end was that perfect final gesture: a little extra wax, offered like a personal favor.

I’ve been to restaurants and hotels with million-dollar budgets that couldn’t create that level of emotional precision. And trust me the Peak-End Rule works both ways. A Japanese restaurant I loved completely destroyed my loyalty with a terrible peak and an even worse ending. One bad moment and one miserable exit erased years of goodwill. Today, I can’t even look at the place.

That’s the thing about experiences: brands obsess over the beginning the launch, the packaging, the welcome message but forget the part that actually sticks: the emotional aftertaste.

The best brands don’t start strong.They end strong.

This carwash didn’t try to be premium. They just made me feel seen, comfortable, understood. They guided me through the experience better than many “customer-centric” companies claim to do.

At lunch, when I said, “Actually… I had amazing service today,” my entire family stared like I had switched personalities. But it was real a basic carwash outperformed brands that invest millions into trying (and failin) to create loyalty.

And maybe that’s the real marketing lesson:

When you get the peak and the ending right, the whole experience becomes unforgettable —even if it’s just soap, water, and a guy named Félix.