For a Few Dollars More

An Open letter to Gary L. Paxton, CEO, Dollar Rent A Car

I admit I made a mistake.

To paraphrase the immortal words of Otter as he tried to console Flounder in Animal House:

‘I f*cked, up; I trusted you.’

That was my first mistake.  My second was not reading the fine print.  Not that I could see it or anything.

Let me start at the beginning.  My wife and I rented a compact car from your company, Dollar Rent A Carl at a rate of $63 a day through CheapTickets.com.  When we arrived at your branch at Denver International Airport the agent asked if we wanted to upgrade.  I recalled on the CheapTickets website the price of car rentals increased somewhere in the neighborhood of $10 incrementally according to the size of the car.  We asked how much the rental would be for a midsize and the agent said the revised rate would be $75 a day.  ‘Fair enough,’ I thought, remembering the website offering upgrades for a few dollars more.     

We agreed to the upgrade at $75 a day (I repeat the rate for a reason which you will see later) and then the agent had me follow along through a litany of documents on a barely visible computer screen as he summarized what each of them said.  ‘You agree to not smoke in the vehicle.’  ‘You agree to return the car with a full tank of gas.’  ‘You have declined any insurance coverage.’ ‘You are responsible for all traffic citations.’  You know the drill, I’m sure.  Now is a good time to mention how difficult it is to read the extremely tiny green font on those black computer screens, although I’m convinced you do it for a reason.

Once the agent got through the final document he asked me to sign, indicating I understood everything he covered.  I’ll be honest: I couldn’t read a single word on that itsy bitsy screen.  For all I know it could have been the Gettysburg Address or Volume ‘E’ of Encyclopedia Britannica.  Basing my understanding on the agent telling me the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I signed.  I mention my signature because it would come back to haunt me four days later when I returned your Chevy Malibu, our midsize car of choice.

My wife and I returned the car with a full tank of gas, free of any and all trash and no worse for the wear—less the mileage we incurred (560, if you must know) over the past 96 hours.  The attendant we returned the car to asked if I wanted a receipt; I did, if only to spot check for any additional charges that may have found its’ way onto our bill.  If they did it would be difficult to tell, however.  Outside of the charges for the rental of the car, here’s what was on the receipt:

·      RNTLVEHSRG 4 days @ $2.00

·      OMB $1.49

·      FACYSEFEE 4 days @ $2.15

·      APCONRGFEE $61.49

·      STATE TAX $70.15

·      SOT $6.47

·      VLF $2.56

Like I would know what the hell any of these were, or if they were even legitimate.

However, what caught my eye was this little gem:

·      4 DAYS @ $63.00 followed by

·      4 DAYS @ $75.00

The total charge amounted to $710.76, about $300 more than I expected to see.  I showed the receipt to Cindy and said apparently the agent left the original rental vehicle on my bill, so in essence I was being charged for two vehicles.  ‘Simple, we’ll go inside and get this straightened out before we get on the plane home,’ I said; a statement qualifying me for one of those Darwin Awards or at the very least Dumbass of the Year.

One inside I gave the receipt to one of the agents behind the counter and pointed out their mistake.  He quickly corrected me: The mistake was all mine.  Apparently the upgrade from compact to midsize was an additional $75 per day, a little bit of information that could have been made a lot clearer had the original agent SIMPLY TOLD ME THAT WHEN I ASKED HOW MUCH THE UPGRADE WOULD COST!  Maybe when I asked ‘how much for a midsize’ he could have said ‘$75 a day…MORE.’  Yes, that little adjective at the end would have made a world of difference because there is no way in hell I would rent a Chevy Malibu for $138 a day. 

He asked for my original receipt—as long as the height of my six-year old grandson—and pointed out the signature at the bottom.  ‘Is this your signature?’ he asked.  I nodded, bracing myself for what would be coming next.  

‘See, you signed your name!  There’s nothing I can do about it now!’

I couldn’t help but notice how much satisfaction and joy he was getting out of my misfortune.  If I didn’t know better I would have thought he had just pulled off the Con of the Century…probably because he did.  I also noticed how emphatically he spoke when he mentioned I had signed my name.    

I asked to speak to the manager on duty.  ‘Sorry, she’s in a conference call,’ said the agent.  ‘Fine, I’ll wait,’ said the Conned of the Century. 

It wasn’t long before the manager on duty—now a ‘he’ and not a ‘she’—called me over to the counter to discuss my predicament.  Ten minutes later I was back to Square One.  Long story short it came down to this: ‘See, you signed your name!  There’s nothing I can do about it now!’   

I couldn’t help but notice he had the same aura of satisfaction and joy as the agent I spoke to earlier.  If I didn’t know better I would have thought they’ve pulled this same Con before, especially since they used identical verbiage.  This couldn’t possibly be the first time this happened: Their shared dialogue and delivery were too—for lack of a better word--rehearsed.  There was no way this was their first time around the block, if you know what I mean.

While Cindy and I were waiting at the gate for our plane to begin boarding I called the toll-free customer service number (I won’t print the actual number, but if there was any justice in the world you should consider changing it to 1-800-GET-FUKT).  After the requisite 10 minutes of listening to a recording stating ‘due to the high volume of calls’ after which all I heard was ‘blah blah blah’ which could have been the same message being repeated or perhaps elevator music because at this point I really wasn’t expecting anyone to actually answer, a REAL LIVE OPERATOR came on the line.  I explained my dilemma after which she only had one question for me.  It was at this point I knew everything I needed to know about Dollar Rent A Car:

‘Did you sign the agreement?’

In my mind I pictured all of the words exchanged between your three employees and I swirling around a flushed toilet bowl and eventually going down the drain…only those five words—‘Did you sign the agreement?’—floating to the surface. 

So once again I admitted I made a mistake: I trusted Dollar Rent A Car.

I trusted your company to provide a decent service at a fair price.   

My mistake.  I won’t make it again.

Fool me once, shame on you.

Now trust ME when I say:

 You won’t fool me twice.  

 Warmest regards,

Scott Ludwig, Rental Agreement #217673691

Losing My Marbles

I knew the day would come.  I just didn’t know it would be this soon.

Or that it would hit me with both barrels. 

The day I’m referring to is the day I realized I was starting to lose my marbles. 

Allow me to give you both barrels so you can judge for yourself.

Barrel One:  I spent the better part of 10 minutes looking around the house for the keys to my car.  I finally found them…snugly in the palm of my right hand where they had been for the entire time I spent looking for them.  While only the tip of the iceberg, there have been enough incidents such as this one that have in no uncertain terms highlighted the fact that I’m losing it, whatever ‘it’ may be…or more accurately, used to be.    

Barrel Two:  My grandson has discovered my marble collection in the two-gallon glass aquarium in the guest bedroom.  He considers the marbles to be his, seeing as he occasionally sleeps in the guest bedroom, has some of his clothes in the dresser in the guest bedroom and the majority of his toy dinosaurs reside in the guest bedroom.  Ergo, the marbles are his. 

Back to Barrel One: I’ve sensed this coming for the past several years; this slow-but-ever-so-sure deterioration of what used to be a pretty keen mind.  It seemed like only yesterday I was able to tell whether or not I had a set of keys in my hand.  Boy has that ship sailed.   Now I can’t remember names, have trouble driving after dark and it takes me 10 minutes longer than it used to getting ready for work in the morning.   

Back to Barrel Two: I’ve taught Krischan how to play marbles…the old fashioned way.  You may remember: Pick a shooter (preferably one of the larger marbles) for yourself, put the rest of the marbles inside of an imaginary circle (a better option is to play in the dirt and draw a circle in the dirt with a stick) and take turns shooting at the marbles by flicking your shooter with your thumb and claiming any marbles that are ‘hit.’  Is Krischan any good?  Let’s just say where there’s a will there’s a way: If he decides he wants to hit a particular marble, one way or another it’s going to happen.  For example he may call for a ‘do-over’ if one of his flicks doesn’t hit a marble, drop his shooter directly on top of his intended target or simply tell me he hit a particular marble when the truth of the matter is he missed it by at least a foot or more.  

My marble collection has been with me for many, many years. To say that it is one of my pride and joys would not be far from the truth.  In that aquarium are marbles that once upon a time belonged to Pappy, my mother’s father; Robert and Don, my wife’s two older brothers; and a lot of my friends because I won them playing ‘keepsies’ when I was Krischan’s age.

I had names for some of the marbles: Steelies (made completely of steel), puries (you can see completely through them), boulders (the oversized ones that Krischan likes to shoot with), cat eyes (if you saw one you’d know why) and some really old marbles made of wood I never knew what to call.

I guess you could say my marble collection is very near and dear to me.  They represent several generations of family, a multitude of memories and how simple it was many, many years ago to have fun.   

Once more for Barrel One: I’m going to hold onto whatever I’ve got left for as long as I possibly can.

Once more for Barrel Two: One day Krischan will own my treasured marble collection.  I can’t think of anyone I’d rather have it after I’m gone.  These marbles I won’t mind losing.      

However, I can’t say the same for the ones over in Barrel One. 

Baby, the Rain must Fall

 I run for many reasons.  It’s good for the body, mind and soul.  It allows me to eat an extra dessert (or two) relatively guilt-free.  It makes me feel good (most of the time, anyway).  It gives me a pair of legs to die for (discuss quietly among yourselves).

In other words, it’s no secret I love running.   

It’s also no secret I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve done simply because I made them a goal and I did whatever it took to make them happen:

·      Running a mile without stopping.

·      Running a10K without stopping.

·      Qualifying for the Boston Marathon.

·      Running the Boston Marathon.

It’s also no secret I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve done simply because they seemed like a good idea at the time:

·      Running 135 miles across Death Valley in temperatures very, very close to the number of miles.  

·      Entering the Western States Endurance Run—twice, actually—when I had absolutely no business running on trails.  (If Montrail named a shoe after me it would be the Nontrail.  If New Balance named a shoe after me it would be the No Balance.  Any questions?)      

It’s also no secret I’ve done a lot of the things I’ve done simply because it gave me something interesting to write about: 

·      Running the Boston Marathon course in reverse, then turning around and running it the correct way with everyone else on Patriot’s Day.

·      Running the Peachtree Road Race from the very back of the pack.  In other words, starting behind 59,999 other runners for a 6.2-mile run on the 4^th of July in downtown Atlanta.    

Finally it’s no secret I do a lot of the things I do simply because.  In other words I’m prone to putting requirements on myself that no one in the solar system gives a rat’s a** about other than yours truly.  Such as:

·      Running every day since November 30, 1978 (with no end in sight).

·      Running 1,000 races, 200 marathons and 50 ultras (two down, one to go).

·      Running 150,000 lifetime miles (ETA 2019).

·      Running 50 consecutive Peachtree Road Races (ETA 2028).

Ah, that last one.  Fifty consecutive Peachtree Road Races.   Having just crossed the finish line for the 37^th time, I’m beginning to question if I still have 13 more of them in me.  Allow me to explain.

The Peachtree Road Race assigns runners a starting corral.  My finish time in last year’s Peachtree qualified me for a spot in Time Group A, which basically means you are assigned to a corral close enough to the starting line that you can read the word ‘START’ on the banner across Peachtree Street and in all probability will finish the race in well under an hour.  (Time Groups B through L will finish the race in less than two hours, M through V in less than three hours, and W through Z sometime during the month of July.  I jest, of course: almost everyone in W through Z time groups finish in time to see the fireworks later that same night.)

Anyway, I opted to start in Time Group L with my friend Valerie who submitted her application for the race without a projected finish time and was at the mercy of the Atlanta Track Club’s method of random Time Group assignment.  Valerie and I ran our first Peachtree together in 1994.  Incidentally after that race it rained for two days (the result of tropical storm Alberto) in the Atlanta area, causing floods that resulted in considerable damage and the loss of 30 lives. 

As we were driving to the race there was an interview with a former Director of the Peachtree Road Race on the radio.  As the skies overhead became darker and darker I heard her say that the chances of lightning in Atlanta in the morning were pretty slim because most of the storms in the area occurred in the afternoon.  I couldn’t help but think those words should not have been said aloud, especially in a forum that could be heard by many.  Moments later the rain came; it wouldn’t stop for hours.  For the first time in my Peachtree Road Race career I would be running from Lenox Square to Piedmont Park in the rain that, to be totally honest was a lot more pleasurable than the usual heat and 100% humidity we’ve all come to know and abhor.    

As I’ve done for the past decade, we parked near the finish line and ran to the start.  Taking the back roads Valerie and I ran (and occasionally walked) a slow and easy five-mile warm up.  Wearing my Time Group A number, I stood out like a sore thumb standing next to Val in Time Group L.  Actually, I stood out like a STUD—remember, I was amongst runners who hoped to finish in modest times in the one-to-two hour range and my number indicated I was a STUD.  (Pardon my use of Exaggeration Font.  I don’t get to use it often.)

Every three minutes another wave of runners was allowed to start the race.  Every three minutes volunteers led the runners in Time Group L another 100 yards closer to the starting line.  Every three minutes the sky grew darker and darker.  The race officially started at 7:30 a.m.  By my calculation Time Group L’s projected starting time would be around 8:30. 

Then, at 8:24 a.m. it happened.  A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky. The announcer on the PA system immediately said the race had been suspended, the timing system would be stopped, everyone would be led to safe quarters and the race would resume in 30 minutes unless more lightning was spotted.  Surely he realized there were thousands of runners spread out all over Peachtree Street; did he expect everyone to stop, mark their spot on the course and seek shelter? 

Val and I looked around and we knew what had to be done.  Others had the same idea as well.  In a driving rain and with the wind in our collective faces, we all took off running down Peachtree Street like bats out of hell, timing system be damned.  We were running this race come hell or (forgive me) high water.  As far as we were concerned Time Group L had heard a public cry for a JAIL BREAK over the public address system.  From what I saw the same can be said for Time Groups J, K and M.  I’m guessing Time Groups N through Z heard it as well.  There would be very little need for the ‘safe quarters’ that the announcer had made reference to.  Not today anyway, because today we were here to run. 

As Val and I left Lenox Square behind us, I couldn’t help but notice that had I started with Time Group A moments after 7:30 a.m. I would have already crossed the finish line.  As it were it was already 8:30 and I was just starting the race, and as far as I knew I wasn’t even an official runner since the timing system had allegedly been stopped.  I wondered if my streak of Peachtree Road Race finishes was in jeopardy, but I didn’t care: I was not going to wait in the pouring rain for 30 minutes, resume my position with Time Group L and continue the 100-yards-every-three-minutes march towards the starting line.

As it turned out the 6.2 miles down Peachtree Street was quite pleasant.  The steady rain and gentle breeze kept the runners cool if not hydrated.  Val had (what she said afterward was) her best run in years.  We crossed the finish line in a little over an hour, collected our commemorative finisher T-shirts and headed back to the car.  As we made our way across the grass of Piedmont Park I couldn’t help but think of the Woodstock music festival: There was mud everywhere.  The rain and the runners were certainly taking their toll on this most unusual 4^th of July. 

Once we got back to the car we changed into dry clothes.  I placed my running attire in a plastic bag and tied it shut, making a mental note to throw all of the contents into the washing machine once I got home.  (Runners—you all know the drill: Wash the clothes today or burn them tomorrow.) 

Overall this year’s Peachtree Road Race was a good experience, with the exceptions of paying $15 to park for 15 minutes so you can run into the expo to pick up your race number and a goodie bag featuring nothing more than a coupon for a free waffle, a $500 discount on a new Mercedes Benz and a plethora of advertisements.

My 37^th Peachtree Road Race finish was in the books.

Maybe. 

(Later I would learn the timing system had never been turned off.  Valerie and I both received official finishing times.

 

Next year Valerie hopes to qualify for a starting position in Time Group B, if not A. 

Fortunately for me I will still be eligible for Time Group A. 

After next year I may find myself at the mercy of the

Gods of random Time Group Assignment. 

 

If that’s the case, thenGodhelpme.