As I slide my credit card into the reader, my body fills with a slight giddiness. I press the buttons with my knuckles and then sanitize my hands, credit card, and for good measure, both wrists.

I shift my car into drive, make a slight left turn and enter four minutes and fifteen seconds of pandemic-era paradise: the car wash.

Nobody near me, me near nobody. Soothing spa music on the radio, my mask hanging loosely around the gear stick. I tilt my seat back and exhale. The bristles and brushes thud on the 2005 Mercedes, and I am safe inside. I’m nestled in a car cocoon, where I can escape the world around me.

I discovered the splendor of the car wash just before the pandemic hit, after I moved from New York City to the Jersey Shore. I hadn’t owned a car for 25 years and gratefully accepted my mother’s sedan when she upgraded to an SUV.

As someone who had only hand-washed cars in the past, I first headed to the local car wash with trepidation. Once there, I was hit with a litany of choices. Did I want triple foam? (It sounded like an excessive amount of soap.) Was an underbody wash even necessary? And what on earth was Simoniz?

Not a good situation for an overthinker with impatient drivers behind her. I opted for the $9 Deluxe. It excluded the scary-sounding Lava Bath and was one step up from the bare-bones Basic.

The crew member at the entry gently coached me. Turn the front wheels until they align with the tracks. Put the car in neutral. Roll up the windows. Make sure the wipers are off.

And then I was thrust into a wild, soul-shaking adventure.

It was a gritty, low-cost version of a Disney World ride. The car shimmied and shuttered. Giant blue and red mops shampooed the sunroof window. Brushes buzzed against the doors, followed by showering water and powerful blow dryers.

And suddenly, I was at the end. With a pounding heart, I waited for the exit light to switch from red to green. When the Go sign lit up, I drove into the sunlight, renewed.

Like so many of us, as COVID spread, I isolated. I was in a relatively new home in a relatively new town, filled with anxiety. I don’t recall how or when I noticed the car wash had reopened. I just know it soon became my escape.

We all need our crutch to get through. Some people turn to their nightly wine. Others binge watch Netflix. My relief is Rain Tunnel.

I’ve downgraded to the $6 Basic to save some cash on my frequent visits — and it’s the deal of the century. In those few minutes, I get a mental break, reignite my sense of fun and wash out negative thoughts.

Each time I emerge, I’m reminded that there is indeed light at the end of the tunnel. And that’s why I keep going back.