California Journal, episode 1
At SFO, in the car rental terminal waiting in a line of one of the many car rental companies. Our hero is about to commit a gaucheness for which he will be punished before the day is out.
Ah, my turn finally. I cheerfully approach my personal driving experience counselor: “Hi, can you fix me up with a car?”
“rsfshun?”
“What?”
“Reservation?”
“Uh ... Indian?”
“What?”
“Sorry . . . thought it was a word association thing. I guess not, huh? Heh, heh.” My counselor’s expression is that of a person who suddenly realizes she is talking to a complete idiot.
I carry on. “No, no reservation. So, what’s on the automobile menu if I don’t have a reservation?”
“The super-micro miny-scrunchy for eleventy-leven dollars a day.”
“Hmm, well, I’ve got to haul four people and their luggaahge. What else is there?”
“A Ford Explorer.”
“Hmmm. That Exploder have those optional, self-destructing Firestones on it?”
“That’s Explorer, sir.”
“Ahh. How much?”
“Eleventeen hundred a day, plus California-mandated excess taxes, surcharges, fees, and re-entry fees totaling forty-leven a day.”
“Wow! I hope DownSouth is right about NTAP.”
“What?”
Stay tuned for our next episode when our hero will try to find (1) San Francisco, (2) the hotel where he and the French have their reservations, and (3) the French, and get them to Numbers 1 and 2. |
