Little Red Rent A Car

The line at Hertz was impossibly long and I was in a hurry. Not that I had anywhere I really needed to be at that moment but standing in line at a car rental place in Newark was not my idea of fun getaway. They offered me water and a map as a consolation. They should have offered me a car and a fine fellow to carry my bag.

Hours later I stepped up to the counter.

"That's a fine rate you found, congratulations".

No congratulations necessary, just a signature in exchange for keys and I would happily be on my way and out of this particular congestion.

"Let's see what we have, hmmm, yes, here we are, a super duper fast thingy ma car with wheels and a roof and power windows, would you like that?"

"That will be fine", and it was, for a $20.00 per day upgrade fee. This poor man had no idea who was peering at him from the other side of the counter. My specific request, with regard to a car, is that it actually moves, has windows and doors, and doesn't smell too bad. Beyond that I don't really care. I assured him that my original car would be fine, if he would just kindly hand me the keys I would be happily on my way. I'd had hours to study my free map, I was prepared.

"But this one has so much more room, plenty of space for your luggage". I looked behind me, and then down at my small green duffel bag, "you understand there is only me, right?".

He went back to his computer, and not satisfied with what he saw, moved over to another computer, forcing someone else to wait while he searched, presumably the same data base, for the perfect car for me and my one bag.

"Aha! Just what you need, and only $10.00 more per day!"

The car I drive now is almost ten years old. It has scrapes, bumps and bashes on all sides. Engraved on the passenger door, in very primitive four year old handwriting, is the word "KATE", left there by a rock and a creative child. It makes odd noises and has lights that flash unexpectedly, warning me to check the engine and to please, for the love of God, pull over and stop driving, in the interest of safety. It also has four wheels, two car seats, a number of windows and heat; it suits me perfectly.

I shook my head, no thank you. "But miss, this one is much more comfortable, it has tons of legroom". I rose to my tippy toes and stretched all of my almost five foot two frame above the counter, "thank you but legroom is not really an issue for me. Can you find me a car with wheels?".

Defeated he handed me a set of keys and directed me to the door marked "No Upgrade". Row after row of small cars, the ones they keep all to themselves as renting one is unthinkable, lined up neatly just waiting for the fools not interested in headlights, cup holders, and power windows. The legroom less car in my spot was red and had Texas license plates, my obvious penance for not wanting more out of a three day car relationship.

Hertz Please

When offered an option, I much prefer driving a rental car. Having nothing to do with novelty, the lure, quite simply, the complete unfamiliarity, and the assumption that I have no idea what I am doing, a consideration not given to me when driving my husband in the car we have owned for five years.

"Allyson, turn on the back wiper, you can't possibly see anything behind you".

Pulling on something to my left, the bright headlights go on, which I don't notice as I am furiously looking in the rear view to see if I have found the right switch to activate the rear wiper.

"You have turned on the bright lights, which you need to now turn off as you are blinding those driving towards us".

Knowingly I look away from the rain soaked road and directly at my passenger seat husband, "I know that dear but I thought it best to be able to see in front of me. And now that I can see that yes, there is a road there, I think it's safe to turn these off". Reaching to the left I turn off not only the brights but the headlights as well, leaving us in complete darkness. In a hasty attempt to bring back the light I turn up the volume on the radio as Jack stretches over to me to turn on the head lights. In a confident show of driver control I let fly with wiper fluid.

The simple idea that I might know why the car is beeping is removed in a rental car. Not one to read the manual we get in and go, after the the requisite two hour installation of the car seats. We are now on our third set of seats, each one promising to be more user friendly than the last. One might think that having now done this for five years we would be accomplished, experts perhaps, but sadly no, it's possible we have regressed. Jack pulls and pushes, I climb about in every kind of unflattering position, wedging myself in between the seats, feet in the air, while the girls play in the open back area, hungry, tired and often cranky. In a convoluted car version of Twister, he hands me a strap which I attach to the nearest thing that looks to be a receiver, Mary's seat now firmly held in place to the front seat shoulder strap. We begin again. When they appear to be firmly in place I begin the test drive, shaking each seat violently, assuring myself that the car could roll over twice and bounce to the moon and the seats would not move.

Now strapped in we begin, and when navigation is an issue, I drive because my husband has decided that it is far more painful to watch me make sense of a map, choosing instead to suffer through my my driving, to which I defend myself, "but Jack! I once drove in Paris". He turns, "and I thank God each and every day that I was not with you". Bravely I pass over the Do Not Back Up sharp things and turn left, no right. This car beeps and we turn up the radio and sing; at home this behavior is considered foolish and is strongly discouraged. Beeps and bells are to be immediately investigated and discussed in detail with the car repair man. However, when flying along on unfamiliar roadways in New Hampshire, it is perfectly acceptable to completely ignore the car's attempt at attention getting and enjoy the scenery. One rain drop, then two, and we both search for the wiper switch, turning on seat warmers, headlights, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang wings and the cruise control before landing the right lever to whisk away the bothersome rain on our once clean windshield.

This camaraderie does not exist in our own car where the driver is expected to know the specific purpose of each and every knob, stick and button available. Save the stereo, where the driver is only allowed limited control.

The rain slows to a stop just as I turn onto our street and with a boldness usually reserved for guacamole making, I reach to turn off the windshield wipers. Swish, swish, the back wiper jumps to attention, whisking away any remaining drops on the rear window. Found it!