A yellow 2013 Camaro like
mine. (Please see photo below.) Does it not remind you of an angry, smiling (?) tiger ready to gobble you up?/
General Motors
At the car
rental desk Christmas Eve, the agent took quite a long time doing my paperwork. Hmmmmm, I wondered, what's up?
He said
something about gas mileage, and I said “Oh, it’s no never mind. I’m not going
far. I can handle it.”
I always
rent the smallest, cheapest car I can get, and Christmas was no different.
Down the
counter was another customer talking with an agent who told him the only
vehicle left was a pick-up truck.
“A pick-up
truck?” asked the customer incredulously. “What’s it look like?”
“It’s a
pick-up truck.” said the agent. “It looks like a pick-up truck. It acts like a pick-up truck. It drives like a pick-up truck. What do you
think it looks like?" At that time of day and without cars to rent, the hired
help could be surly.
"It
seats four.”
The guy took it.
This was
the Orlando International Airport, after all, where car rentals are at a
premium at Christmastime, what with all the tourists from the brrrrr north
coming down to partake of Disney World and all the other area worlds.
I had not
even plucked down any money on my credit card to make my reservation ahead of
time, but I was a past customer which might have helped. This was E-Z Car Rental, far cheaper than the big name rental companies. I go for the cut-rate
deals.
And I got
one!
For the cut-rate
“economy” price, how would you like a brand new with temporary tag, bright
yellow 2013 Camaro? I ain’t talkin’ no wispy Williamsburg dainty yellow. I am
talking SCREAMING bright yellow. As in Sun Yellow, the kind that blinds you
when you look at it. (GM calls it "Rally Yellow," and it costs more to get it!)
Would you
go for that, sister? Would you? Could you?
Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! I was supposed to drive it?
The car had
more many lights, push buttons, and turning knobs than a 747, and I would know
since I’ve driven neither.
It had
a camera which showed you what was behind you when you backed-up and it beeped
at you if you got too close to anything, and sent messages if the area was unsafe.
“Be mindful of your surroundings” or something like that. Whew!
The windows
in the back seat (a two-door) were smaller than Little Caesar’s pizza slices,
in other words, non-functional for a driver like me who uses them constantly to
change lanes and who can't see to drive at night.
Yes, it was
night, but fortunately, in Orlando, Florida, the lights never go out since it’s
always party-time, and I was hoping no dragster would challenge me to a race on
Interstate 4 like what happened to me in Colorado when I was driving my son’s Z
a few years back.
In the
Camaro I was unable to find the button or clip or anything on the rearview
mirror to dim the cars’ lights behind me since I can't see to drive at night, but I did spot three little buttons on the bottom of the mirror (!) and pressed
the red one.
The radio
was blaring, and the name of the artist and the song showed on the television screen
(!) below the radio, and you could select the type of music you wanted to scan (jazz,
blues, classics, HEAT (?)).
Cool. I could get used to this, but this noise conflicted with the man’s
voice which immediately spoke to me from somewhere….the ceiling? A phone? The
cloud. It must have been the cloud.
“Hello,” he
said. “This is OnStar. How may I help you?”
I had not mastered the art of turning down the
radio volume being that it was night and I can't see to drive at night, and the
dash was a blur while I cruised the highway, trying to figure out where the lanes were.
Uuuhhhhhh,
uhhhhhhh, I stammered. I was just trying to figure out how to drive the car
since it’s a rental and that’s okay, I can figure it out, I told him, fearing
E-Z Car Rental would charge me $50 for the call.
The Camaro had stereo sound and a phone logo on the rear-view mirror, too, which I am certain made
telephone calls upon command. I was afraid to press and find out ($50?). The
car probably had a coffee maker which dispensed Starbux, but again, I was
afraid to push any more buttons since talking heads were coming out of the upholstery and floorboards. There was likely a microwave, but I never found it. I know there was Internet somewhere.
Besides, it was time to check in to my cut-rate
motel where I was immediately shocked throughout my body once I got to my room
and reached up under the lamp shade to turn on the light and stuck my fingers
in a broken socket. Pop! Crack!
Bang! Sizzle, sizzle was the
music my body made all right night (it rhymes). The motel was rather unusual since "guests" roamed around the halls and lobby in bare feet and at breakfast, came down in their pajamas. Actually, I think Kayak got the place mixed up with a mental ward and somehow I got in.
With rental
cars, it always takes me the longest time to figure out how to open the gas
gauge to insert fuel. So when I slid in the car the next morning (only too
glad to find it in one piece without damage by the patients in the scary parking lot which the Camaro did not like one bit, beeping about the lack of a secure neighborhood), I
remembered to look for that blooming button to pop open the gas gauge, but it
was nowhere, and I was too afraid to push buttons. The roof might fly off and
then where would I be?
The
manual? The manual? Who takes time to read a manual? Well, duh!
I called
E-Z which did not return my call.
One of the
other buttons on the rearview mirror was blue so I pressed it, and immediately
another male answered: “This is car service” or something like that. “How may I
help you?” (Do you have escort service? Just kidding! Hahahahaha.)
Uhhhh,
uhhhhh, I stammered. I am trying to find the button to open the gas gauge. Do
you know where it is? “No," he said, "but I can connect you with GM.”
Oh, that’s okay, I said, fearing a $50 charge to talk with GM. Maybe the fee
would be doubled since it was Christmas.
I drove to my
sister’s who called her neighbors to announce a space ship had landed in her
yard.
The neighbors came
right over, being males and all excited about cars (who cares?), but they
couldn’t find the gas gauge pop button either.
We all
circled the car and went round and round, and my sister says “Here it is!”
pointing to the gas gauge. I know where the gas gauge is, I said, but where’s the button to open it? She pressed on the bright yellow
circle. Voila! Open, sesame. Big deal!
It is scary
to drive a new car and worry about hitting something or something hitting you.
I never exceeded the speed limit although the engine wanted to run.
Later, my
son said: “I don’t suppose it had manual shift, did it?”
No.
“How much
horsepower?”
This car runs on an engine, I told him. Horses had nothing to do with it.
There was nobody
happier to turn a car loose than I was at the rental return. The gas mileage
was really not bad, and thank goodness, E-Z did not charge me for all those
phone calls. Give me an economical, dented old car any day, but at E-Z, they
treat you right. Highly recommended!
My 2013 Camaro/
patricia leslie
All I want
for Christmas is a yellow spaceship
A yellow
space ship
A yellow
spaceship
All I want
for Christmas is a yellow spaceship
So I can race….down
the interstate!
The Rev. Fisher Yang sang on the Orange Line on New Year's Eve/patricia leslie
The Rev. Fisher Yang was singing three days later on the Orange Line/patricia leslie
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