On my latest trip, I stopped by the rental lot to pick up a car. A young attendant motioned me over to his counter. He took my driver's license and the proceeded to type for what seemed like ten minutes. There's no way he got that much information off of that little piece of plastic. Then, he asks for my credit card and resumes the typing marathon. Continuing to type at breakneck speed and without looking up, he asks me a series of rapid-fire questions:
- Do you want insurance?
- Will you be bringing it back with a full tank of gas?
- Where are you heading?
- Would you like a GPS?
- Are you aware of how toll roads work?
After a long flight, I just wanted to get on the road and eventually relax in my hotel room. So, finally the guy has me sign several electronic "papers" and then he hands me my rental agreement. Off I go! Well, I happen to look down at the paperwork and notice something. Sensing that something was wrong, the Avis guy says, "Sir, is everything all right?"
Confused, I look up and reply, "Actually, it's not. I'm supposed to get a mid-size car. You gave me a Prius."
He assures me that it is indeed a mid-size car. In fact, he tells me that it's a really a "cool" car. But what he doesn't understand, and what I certainly didn't feel like explaining, is that I really couldn't be seen driving a Prius If someone happened to get a glimpse of me in a Prius, the damage to my conservative image could be irreversible. I could already imagine the You Tube video! But somehow, to his credit, the guy talks me into trying the "green" vehicle.
Feeling really apprehensive, I venture out to the parking lot. Even though I was 1500 miles from home, I was still worried that I might run into someone I know. I finally get to the light blue Prius. I open the door to retrieve the key out of the cup-holder However, instead of a traditional key, there's only a remote control. I found this to be a bit strange. Anyhow, I walk around back and start hitting buttons to open the hatchback. Nothing happens. I start pulling up on the hatchback but it still won't budge. I finally give up and toss my luggage into the back seat.
Then I sit down in the driver's seat and try to figure out where the key should go. But there's no ignition switch. However, there is a button that has "start" marked on it. So, like a curious child, I start pushing the button. Nothing happens. Then, defying even more of my masculinity, I open the glove box to look for the owner's manual. But it's not to be found. So, I sit there for another ten minutes pushing buttons and turning knobs hoping that something might eventually ignite the engine. The best I could do was blow the horn a few times and spray about a half gallon of wiper fluid over the windshield.
I wind up getting out of the car. Visibly frustrated, my thoughts come to life as I say, "I can't believe this bullshit!"
About this time, a middle-aged female employee comes walking by. She instantly saw that all wasn't right with me. So, she asks, "Can I help you with something?"
Taking a quick look around, in a muffled voice, I say, "Yes, maybe you can. Do you know how to start this thing?"
Sensing that she's been in this exact situation before, I watch her as she sits in the drivers seat. She then shoots me a quick glance which suggests that she thinks I'm an idiot. In a strange way, I felt like I was being bullied.
"All you have to do is put your foot on the brake and push the start button," she says. "Can you hear the motor running?"
I listened but couldn't really hear anything. So, as if I were putting my ear to a railroad track, I put my head on the the car's hood. There was a little whine but nothing like a real engine. Surprised, I asked, "You're kidding me. That's the engine? It sounds more like a cordless drill."
She assures me that it's running and then instructs me how to put the car in gear. Now, the gear shift looked like a miniature Playstation joystick. I could see myself accidentally knocking this thing into reverse at 75 mph. I just couldn't take it anymore. I finally said, "You know what? I don't like this car. I want another one."
She asks, "What's wrong with it?"
"Look at it! This isn't a man's car!", I replied. "Can you really see me driving this thing?"
I could tell from her reaction that she thought I had a screw loose. She just rolled her eyes and handed the remote back to me as she joined some of her co-workers on the edge of the parking lot. I'm sure she had some choice words about me. In all honesty, it was pretty humiliating having her show me how to start the damned thing.
I walked back inside and saw the kid who rented me the car. He asks, "Is everything OK?"
Feeling like I was channeling Joe Pesci's character from My Cousin Vinny, I said, "No, it's not OK. I want a car that burns good old-fashioned gasoline and that starts with a freggin' key. Do you possibly have anything on your lot that fits into that category? Seriously, I'll take a go-kart at this point!"
He goes back to the speed-typing, looks up and says, "I have a mid-size Chevy available, sir. How's that sound?"
"It's not a Volt, is it?" I quickly reply.
"No, sir, " he said. "It's actually a Malibu."
I told him that a Malibu would be perfect and out the door I went. At last, a satisfied customer!
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