A: So we arrive at our destination, the lovely and scenic Days Inn in lovely and scenic Kingston, Tennessee at around 1:00 AMish, as Lioux mentioned. These kinds of trips cost enough money without us having to hemorrhage it at every turn, so when we check into a lodging establishment, the routine is that two go in, two stay with the van, and we surreptitiously enter the hotel from a secondary entrance, thus avoiding the completely unnecessary fees incurred for someone else to share a rock-hard slab of concrete bed with you.
It’s late, and we have to scoot around the back of the hotel in order to get in. Elle and Marconi got the room, Lioux and I stayed in the back of the van to have a little drink while we were waiting. Marconi comes back out, raps on the window and gets our attention, speaking through the glass that we have to be super quiet and not create any extra attention, as we don’t want any issues tonight. He motions for Lioux to unlock the door so he can give us the lowdown on our entrance strategy. The door unlocks, Marconi pulls it… and the car alarm inexplicably goes BERSERK! Lights are flashing, sirens are blaring… and no one has the keys to turn it off. Lioux and I are now laughing hysterically, because we can’t believe how ridiculous this is, when I find that for some reason I have the keys in my pocket. I disable the alarm, Marconi waits for his blood pressure to return to a normal state, and giggling slowing trails off.
We decide that we couldn’t have planned something that perfectly ridiculous if we tried, nor could we have pulled it off with the grace of a comic genius. It was completely awesome.
L: OMG!!! This was all too funny. I didn’t know Aliewhere had a key. I knew Elle had a key because she drove the last part of trip to the hotel. When the alarm started going off I assumed Marconi had the other key. “Shut the alarm off!”
Marconi: “I DON’T have a key!”
We began searching our pockets, when Alienwhere announced “Oh, wait. I do have a key.” And shut the alarm off.
That was one of the best laughs we’ve had on the trip so far. And the whisky we were doing shots of had nothing to do with our hysterics.
A: No, totally not. It did, however, help explain how the situation became so funny so fast, though.
Epilogue:
A: In order to enter the hotel to actually get in the room and sleep for the night, Marconi had to “illegally prop open a side entrance” (his words) and it was up to us to sneak in unbeknownst to the hotel staff. As I am a ninja, this proved no problem for me until I noticed on my way in the sign that proclaimed closed circuit tv surveillance, followed by my quick dash in the door to see not one, but two separate cameras surveying the stairways. I whispered for Lioux to hustle after this realization, picturing some Southern-fried Sonny Crockett wannabe employed by the Days Inn specifically to assist in these types of matters cornering us in the hall as we were about to enter the room, thus completely incriminating ourselves. Then I pictured facing either a Southern-fried beating or some equally embarrassing face-off at the front desk where we would be not only made to feel like assholes, but then required to pay for our part of the stay.
Luckily, my fears were short-lived, we got in the room, drank a bit more, watched some RIDICULOUS videos on MySpace, and I enjoyed a mediocre shower to get rid of the road grime and gasoline I had spilled on myself earlier…
L: HOW did Marconi NOT see/know about those surveillance cameras?!
Sunday, July 15, 2007
What Child Is This?
A: As an ardent fan of the magnificence that is Arby’s, and a devout believer in the true power of the Market Fresh Turkey Ranch & Bacon sandwich, I have, over the course of the last few tours, converted the rest of SK into zealots, just like me for this deliciousness. It didn’t take much coaxing, thank goodness, because Arby’s, though technically a fast-food establishment, actually offers a wide range of tasty and relatively healthy food. Sure, you can go for broke with a Big Beef & Cheddar, Curly Fries, and Large Milkshake, but you can just as easily get a wrap, a bottled water, and if you want to push it, a brain-meltingly awesome apple or cherry turnover, all freshly made. Seriously, if you haven’t experienced the majesty of this chain, what the hell are you waiting for? I could go on for days about this, and I may, later on, when we have nothing else to say, but I digress for now.
We pull in to an Arby’s last night, and I pass a bulletin board where people have stapled/tacked local business opportunities, cars for sale, rooms for rent, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary, but something catches my eye as I blast into the inner doors. I stop in my tracks, and turn around to look again, and I notice that someone has tacked up the inner photo holder from a typical wallet – you know, frosty looking plastic, kind of like a tiny book? Anyway, I assume someone dropped it, although that would be kind of hard, I imagine, and some other kind soul stuck it here in the hopes it would be reunited with its presumably distraught owner. Thing is, it’s filled – FILLED – with pictures of little children. And little children who don’t even bear a passing resemblance. So it begs the question:
Whose pictures are these, and more importantly, whose kids are these?
I started to giggle at the thought of someone collecting other people’s baby pictures, but then it turned to kind of an uneasy feeling, as my mind drifted to the darker side of humanity, naturally, and I began to become a little sorry I had laughed so quickly at what could possibly be a really terrible situation. But then I quickly recovered myself and saw the inherent nonsense in this whole thing anyway, pretended nothing was wrong and made Lioux hold them up so I could snap a few pics with my phone.
L: Alienwhere also left out the part, this was our SECOND Arby’s stop of the day. We really should get some sort of sponsorship from this chain.
And yes that was a bizarre bulletin board find. Alienwhere came running in the restaurant just to show me.
Once back inside, they had messed up Elle’s order and she was standing at the counter. They forgot to put cheese on her Market Fresh Sandwich, and she was just humbly asking them for a slice she could put on the sandwich herself. Not only did they give her a slice, but INSISTED on giving her another free sandwich. Arby’s is AWESOME!!!
[DAMN IT! While we are now traveling in the van and I’m writing this I just realized we left the sandwich back in the hotel fridge].
*sigh*
We pull in to an Arby’s last night, and I pass a bulletin board where people have stapled/tacked local business opportunities, cars for sale, rooms for rent, etc. Nothing out of the ordinary, but something catches my eye as I blast into the inner doors. I stop in my tracks, and turn around to look again, and I notice that someone has tacked up the inner photo holder from a typical wallet – you know, frosty looking plastic, kind of like a tiny book? Anyway, I assume someone dropped it, although that would be kind of hard, I imagine, and some other kind soul stuck it here in the hopes it would be reunited with its presumably distraught owner. Thing is, it’s filled – FILLED – with pictures of little children. And little children who don’t even bear a passing resemblance. So it begs the question:
Whose pictures are these, and more importantly, whose kids are these?
I started to giggle at the thought of someone collecting other people’s baby pictures, but then it turned to kind of an uneasy feeling, as my mind drifted to the darker side of humanity, naturally, and I began to become a little sorry I had laughed so quickly at what could possibly be a really terrible situation. But then I quickly recovered myself and saw the inherent nonsense in this whole thing anyway, pretended nothing was wrong and made Lioux hold them up so I could snap a few pics with my phone.
L: Alienwhere also left out the part, this was our SECOND Arby’s stop of the day. We really should get some sort of sponsorship from this chain.
And yes that was a bizarre bulletin board find. Alienwhere came running in the restaurant just to show me.
Once back inside, they had messed up Elle’s order and she was standing at the counter. They forgot to put cheese on her Market Fresh Sandwich, and she was just humbly asking them for a slice she could put on the sandwich herself. Not only did they give her a slice, but INSISTED on giving her another free sandwich. Arby’s is AWESOME!!!
[DAMN IT! While we are now traveling in the van and I’m writing this I just realized we left the sandwich back in the hotel fridge].
*sigh*
Fill ‘Er Up
We needed to gas up at this point, so we pulled off in Asshair, Virginia* and found a station right off the highway.
Wow.
I think you might see where we’re headed here.
I was driving for about two and a half hours prior, so I said I would pay for this tank of gas and fill it as the others went inside, used the b-room, got a drink, etc. I’ll let Lioux elaborate on the crowd, as I was preoccupied. So I’m filling the tank, enjoying a stupendous people show, and I glance at the handle of the pump that I’m holding. Clear as day, I read the instruction “DO NOT TOP OFF”. I know what this means. It means when the pump stops, don’t keep clicking it to get the price to something even that you and your mental illness can live with. I read it, process the instruction and go back to the people show.
Maybe about a minute later, just to give you an idea of exactly how little time passed, I hear the familiar click of the pump’s auto shut-off. I glance at the price on the meter.
$48.13.
Surely I can do better than that, right? The little OCD voice inside my head goaded me to keep pumping. To get to that magical $48.50 mark. Just thirty-seven cents more, and I’ll be satisfied.
One click.
$48.22.
Ok, that wasn’t a good one. One more good one this time.
It is at this moment I hear a splattering sound, and feel a wet something-or-other on my leg and shoe.
Glancing down, I realize that the tank is overfilled, dripping onto the concrete and my leg.
Looking back at the pump in my hand, I once again read the warning.
“DO NOT TOP OFF”.
There it was. I saw it, and I didn’t heed it. I’ve got no one to blame.
And the kicker is that the inbred half-breed derelicts standing nearby can do this without the little faux pas I just made.
Oh – and I only got to $48.36.
And when I got back in the car, Elle, now sitting next to me, looks at me and goes, “Dude, your leg REEKS!” followed by “But it’s not that bad.”
Uh-huh.
(*Name withheld to protect the mutants living in this town)
L: Hahaha. While Alienwhere was outside pumping away, Elle, Marconi, and I went inside to the station’s little convenience store to use the restrooms and buy ourselves some treats. As we first entered the store, there was a young man whose car had just broken down and was seeking assistance from the clerk who was on duty. The clerk was little to no help at all, only offering the poor guy a yellow pages.
Elle and I both wanted coffee, and began pouring ourselves some cups. In turning around I notice the next patron to walk through the door. A hulking, fat, hairy and TOPLESS man. Yick. As Elle later put it, “He was about as charming as and reminiscent of Yosemite Sam.”
So as we go about preparing our coffee Elle now notices THERE IS NO MILK OR CREAM FOR THE COFFEE. Just that powdered crap. WHAT kind of convenience store doesn’t have MILK or CREAM available for their coffee. [Again the clerk was very non helpful]. In the end, Elle sucks it up and just makes her coffee with what’s available.
We climb back in the van, and now I’m at the wheel. Elle climbs in back with Alienwhere and that when we notice the pungent smell of gas inside the van…
Wow.
I think you might see where we’re headed here.
I was driving for about two and a half hours prior, so I said I would pay for this tank of gas and fill it as the others went inside, used the b-room, got a drink, etc. I’ll let Lioux elaborate on the crowd, as I was preoccupied. So I’m filling the tank, enjoying a stupendous people show, and I glance at the handle of the pump that I’m holding. Clear as day, I read the instruction “DO NOT TOP OFF”. I know what this means. It means when the pump stops, don’t keep clicking it to get the price to something even that you and your mental illness can live with. I read it, process the instruction and go back to the people show.
Maybe about a minute later, just to give you an idea of exactly how little time passed, I hear the familiar click of the pump’s auto shut-off. I glance at the price on the meter.
$48.13.
Surely I can do better than that, right? The little OCD voice inside my head goaded me to keep pumping. To get to that magical $48.50 mark. Just thirty-seven cents more, and I’ll be satisfied.
One click.
$48.22.
Ok, that wasn’t a good one. One more good one this time.
It is at this moment I hear a splattering sound, and feel a wet something-or-other on my leg and shoe.
Glancing down, I realize that the tank is overfilled, dripping onto the concrete and my leg.
Looking back at the pump in my hand, I once again read the warning.
“DO NOT TOP OFF”.
There it was. I saw it, and I didn’t heed it. I’ve got no one to blame.
And the kicker is that the inbred half-breed derelicts standing nearby can do this without the little faux pas I just made.
Oh – and I only got to $48.36.
And when I got back in the car, Elle, now sitting next to me, looks at me and goes, “Dude, your leg REEKS!” followed by “But it’s not that bad.”
Uh-huh.
(*Name withheld to protect the mutants living in this town)
L: Hahaha. While Alienwhere was outside pumping away, Elle, Marconi, and I went inside to the station’s little convenience store to use the restrooms and buy ourselves some treats. As we first entered the store, there was a young man whose car had just broken down and was seeking assistance from the clerk who was on duty. The clerk was little to no help at all, only offering the poor guy a yellow pages.
Elle and I both wanted coffee, and began pouring ourselves some cups. In turning around I notice the next patron to walk through the door. A hulking, fat, hairy and TOPLESS man. Yick. As Elle later put it, “He was about as charming as and reminiscent of Yosemite Sam.”
So as we go about preparing our coffee Elle now notices THERE IS NO MILK OR CREAM FOR THE COFFEE. Just that powdered crap. WHAT kind of convenience store doesn’t have MILK or CREAM available for their coffee. [Again the clerk was very non helpful]. In the end, Elle sucks it up and just makes her coffee with what’s available.
We climb back in the van, and now I’m at the wheel. Elle climbs in back with Alienwhere and that when we notice the pungent smell of gas inside the van…
And The Winner Is…
L: THERYCHE! An obvious fan of the nineteen eighties mega sensation known as Queensryche. I first noticed this fan as he was passing us in his PT Cruiser. The back of this vehicle was decorated with the band’s logo as its motif in a simple yet overstated linear pattern that leads the eye directly to the cleverly chosen vanity plate.
It was at that moment I realized how much I Loved, Loved, Loved this particular, artistic and clever driver.
Hours later we had just gassed up, it was my turn to drive and we headed back out to the highway. A few moments back on the road in regular traffic, I noticed a cluster of vehicles coming up behind us. We all try to drive with extreme caution because of the weight of our gear and luggage so we stick to the speed limit, stay in the slow lane and are constantly being passed.
You can understand my excitement when I realized one of these passing vehicle turned out to be, yep, you guessed it THERYCHE again!
[I wonder if it’s a Sister Kisser fan working his way down our Nashville show]?
It was at that moment I realized how much I Loved, Loved, Loved this particular, artistic and clever driver.
Hours later we had just gassed up, it was my turn to drive and we headed back out to the highway. A few moments back on the road in regular traffic, I noticed a cluster of vehicles coming up behind us. We all try to drive with extreme caution because of the weight of our gear and luggage so we stick to the speed limit, stay in the slow lane and are constantly being passed.
You can understand my excitement when I realized one of these passing vehicle turned out to be, yep, you guessed it THERYCHE again!
[I wonder if it’s a Sister Kisser fan working his way down our Nashville show]?
The Proliferation of Stupid License Plates
A: According to a source living deep within the confines of the South, it costs only a few dollars more to get yourself a vanity plate when you get your license plates from D of MV. Needless to say, the inexpensive nature of such a luxury, coupled with the staggering level of jackassery and the inescapable need for idiots to express some uninteresting facet of their personalities results in a game we in the van call Passing Vanity. Here are some of the mindblowers we’ve found so far.
A: LUV 2B - I’d love to be as witty as you! How many other plates did you pass up to settle on this comic gem?
L: LUV to be what?
A: JDNZDAD - “Jaden’s Dad”? – Uh, really? You’re bragging? Jaden’s a little bitch who teases retarded children at school incessantly. Nice parenting job, jerk.
L: I wonder if Jaden’s mom has a JDNZMOM plate.
A: FESTOR - Clearly an Addam’s Family fan, although a mildly illiterate one.
L: [?]
A: TRUCK - Seen on a truck, would have been that much funnier on a different vehicle type.
L: Yes. I would’ve gotten this for my car.
A: INUNEZ - Celebrating Latino heritage in the spirit of Isaac Asimov.
L: No comment.
A: N2LOW1S - “Into Low Ones”? – Seen on a “Fast and the Furious” type aftermarket-addled POS. Driven by an equally asinine person, texting furiously as he does 75 mph, because risking it all is what it’s all about.
L: Dumb. I’m N2 lots of things, myself…But this one took us a minute to actually figure out.
A: ITSFATE - What’s fate? Being a moron? Driving a piece of garbage on a backwoods interstate? Or the fact that if we meet in person I may kill you where you stand when the stupid leaving your mouth reaches my ears?
L: Even douchebags have fates.
A: HSING - Banged-up old BMW, driven by a hot Asian girl. I got nothing. She was cute.
L: I missed that one.
A: GTZFMLY - “Gets Family”? “Gits Family?” “Get Z off Emily”? WTF?
L: One of my pet peeves are vanity plates that make no sense to me.
And a banger from the hotel parking lot:
A: TOPLES - convertible, presumably driven by an absolute trainwreck of a woman, smelling of Newports, vodka, and the absolute worst cheap perfume Walgreen’s has to offer.
L: I never saw the driver of this vehicle, but convinced Alienwhere to get a photo. While in the van resuming our trip and now blogging, Elle went into great detail of what this woman looked like. And yes. Total trainwreck.
[Wait. Did we just pass the exit for Dollywood]?
A: LUV 2B - I’d love to be as witty as you! How many other plates did you pass up to settle on this comic gem?
L: LUV to be what?
A: JDNZDAD - “Jaden’s Dad”? – Uh, really? You’re bragging? Jaden’s a little bitch who teases retarded children at school incessantly. Nice parenting job, jerk.
L: I wonder if Jaden’s mom has a JDNZMOM plate.
A: FESTOR - Clearly an Addam’s Family fan, although a mildly illiterate one.
L: [?]
A: TRUCK - Seen on a truck, would have been that much funnier on a different vehicle type.
L: Yes. I would’ve gotten this for my car.
A: INUNEZ - Celebrating Latino heritage in the spirit of Isaac Asimov.
L: No comment.
A: N2LOW1S - “Into Low Ones”? – Seen on a “Fast and the Furious” type aftermarket-addled POS. Driven by an equally asinine person, texting furiously as he does 75 mph, because risking it all is what it’s all about.
L: Dumb. I’m N2 lots of things, myself…But this one took us a minute to actually figure out.
A: ITSFATE - What’s fate? Being a moron? Driving a piece of garbage on a backwoods interstate? Or the fact that if we meet in person I may kill you where you stand when the stupid leaving your mouth reaches my ears?
L: Even douchebags have fates.
A: HSING - Banged-up old BMW, driven by a hot Asian girl. I got nothing. She was cute.
L: I missed that one.
A: GTZFMLY - “Gets Family”? “Gits Family?” “Get Z off Emily”? WTF?
L: One of my pet peeves are vanity plates that make no sense to me.
And a banger from the hotel parking lot:
A: TOPLES - convertible, presumably driven by an absolute trainwreck of a woman, smelling of Newports, vodka, and the absolute worst cheap perfume Walgreen’s has to offer.
L: I never saw the driver of this vehicle, but convinced Alienwhere to get a photo. While in the van resuming our trip and now blogging, Elle went into great detail of what this woman looked like. And yes. Total trainwreck.
[Wait. Did we just pass the exit for Dollywood]?
Tender Moments In The Van
A: Marconi took the first driving shift, and Elle was riding shotgun, so Lioux and I made ourselves as comfortable as possible in the back seatal area for the first long leg of the ride. We have two captain’s chair type seats, with a assload of gear directly behind our heads, and two guitars on the floor between us. (See diagram)
Essentially, I get very fidgety in the van after a while, so I started bustling and moving around. My Treo’s battery was going low because I was using it constantly (thank God for wireless Internet on my phone) and I needed to charge up. After shifting my weight about a million times, I decided to reach behind me and grab my charger. I notice Lioux is napping, or at least making an attempt to enjoy a peaceful moment’s slumber, so I am trying to be super quiet next to his head as I unzip my bag near his ear… I fumble for the plug I need, still quiet, he is apparently unfazed by my movement. Then I’m about to stealthily slip back into my seat when the van lurches sideways about an inch, and I elbow him squarely in the temple. Apologizing, I giggle, because it was freaking funny, and sneak back to my post.
L: *sigh*
THAT was sooo annoying AND obnoxious, but I think I was giggling just as hard as you, Alienwhere. After that, I realized I wasn’t going back to sleep. Elle, I and the others started swapping funny stories, experiences and conversation.
Elle began to tell me about a bicycle accident she witnessed by one of her neighbors. She described it as if it were something out of a cartoon. Apparently this guy had wiped out face first and ass end up, with the back tire still in the air and spinning. The more all of us visualized this and started added our own sound effects, I was on the floor in absolute hysterics. This is one of those times when the band gets me going and I just can’t stop.
According to Elle, this neighbor now wears a helmet.
Essentially, I get very fidgety in the van after a while, so I started bustling and moving around. My Treo’s battery was going low because I was using it constantly (thank God for wireless Internet on my phone) and I needed to charge up. After shifting my weight about a million times, I decided to reach behind me and grab my charger. I notice Lioux is napping, or at least making an attempt to enjoy a peaceful moment’s slumber, so I am trying to be super quiet next to his head as I unzip my bag near his ear… I fumble for the plug I need, still quiet, he is apparently unfazed by my movement. Then I’m about to stealthily slip back into my seat when the van lurches sideways about an inch, and I elbow him squarely in the temple. Apologizing, I giggle, because it was freaking funny, and sneak back to my post.
L: *sigh*
THAT was sooo annoying AND obnoxious, but I think I was giggling just as hard as you, Alienwhere. After that, I realized I wasn’t going back to sleep. Elle, I and the others started swapping funny stories, experiences and conversation.
Elle began to tell me about a bicycle accident she witnessed by one of her neighbors. She described it as if it were something out of a cartoon. Apparently this guy had wiped out face first and ass end up, with the back tire still in the air and spinning. The more all of us visualized this and started added our own sound effects, I was on the floor in absolute hysterics. This is one of those times when the band gets me going and I just can’t stop.
According to Elle, this neighbor now wears a helmet.
The Near-Fatal Motorcycle Accident
A: Not us. Only seconds after pulling away from the studio, we were probably less than a hundred yards from the driveway when the sound of a demon escaping the clutches of hell (painfully squealing tires) echoed through the van. We all turned around to see some dude on a motorcycle clipped by a car and all over the road. It seemed he was ok, but we missed being a part of this little fiasco by about two seconds, literally. Really a great harbinger of things to come, if you ask me. And you will, because how else would you find anything out. Duh.
L: OMG!!! I can’t believe we missed perhaps being involved in that accident by only SECONDS! That totally freaked me out. We had just pulled out of the studio driveway and driving through the FIRST traffic light of the trip when we heard the whole thing happen just behind us.
I’m hoping it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, as I noticed the motorcycle driver was picking himself off the ground as multiple witnesses ran to his aid.
L: OMG!!! I can’t believe we missed perhaps being involved in that accident by only SECONDS! That totally freaked me out. We had just pulled out of the studio driveway and driving through the FIRST traffic light of the trip when we heard the whole thing happen just behind us.
I’m hoping it wasn’t as bad as it sounded, as I noticed the motorcycle driver was picking himself off the ground as multiple witnesses ran to his aid.
The Load-In
A: Having gotten the van secured, it was time to pack that puppy up. We generally don’t go overboard carrying equipment we don’t need, but even still, between the gear we can’t perform without and our belongings for a week and change, we’ve got a lot of crap to carry. There’s no getting around it. So we laid everything out on the studio driveway and stared at it for a while, quietly thinking how this was going to happen. I actually experienced a moment of sheer panic, when I thought to myself “there’s no goddamned way all of this is getting in this crapbox”, but quickly allayed my own fears when we started putting stuff in right places. Nevertheless, this pack job was akin to putting a game of Jenga back together. There’s a ton of pieces, and there’s really only one good way to put them in order, so figure it out. You can see the results of our Herculean effort here:
Day 1 - The Rental
A: As all great journeys begin with a single step, typically, SisterKisser journeys begin with a misstep. We arrived at the studio to rent the van we needed for our travel. We piled into Marconi’s Jeep and headed to the Avis to secure our steed.
Apparently at this particular branch, all the adults have been killed and the management and floor staff is a somewhat Lord Of The Flies affair. We made a reservation for a Dodge Caravan, as it is the only available vehicle in the distinguished Avis fleet that would meet our needs. Naturally, there was no such vehicle reserved for us. I, being a little hot tempered occasionally, briefly entertained the notion of Avis-cerating this jackass where he stood. However, Young-and-Puss-Faced told us that the Town and Country in the lot was an equivalent vehicle and after a brief inspection of said vehicle, we were satisfied, and fired up to hit the road.
Upon being asked if we were all going to drive, we found out we needed to sign additional driver agreements. The pubescent lad behind the counter moaned audibly as he realized there were no more of these magical documents that would enable us to harness the raw power of the Chrysler Town and Country we had before us. A second non-testes-descended employee arrived, having driven up to the office (we assume legally, but who knows) and upon having this information conveyed to him, also made a groaning noise, replying “I’ll be right back” and promptly hauled his skinny ass away to the “other office”, which we were told was less than 5 minutes away.
20 minutes later, when accurate math calculations ceased to exist on our planet, he arrived, and we finished up. Lively banter ensued with the two tweens and we were finally on our way, already later than we had imagined.
L: Yes. This is true. This particular office was run by two twelve year olds.
It seems every time we rent a vehicle, something goes wrong, and it’s usually with the reservation. On one trip last year we were told they “didn’t even have a vehicle for us”. And we had to scramble to another place just to get a van.
But in the end we all kept a sense of humour about this particular situation, and were joking around with the lads as we signed off and got the keys to the rental.
And the additional driver thing seemed to work out pretty well as we all took shifts driving throughout the day from when we left at 12:35 PMish until we arrived at our hotel in Tennessee at 1:00 AMish.
Apparently at this particular branch, all the adults have been killed and the management and floor staff is a somewhat Lord Of The Flies affair. We made a reservation for a Dodge Caravan, as it is the only available vehicle in the distinguished Avis fleet that would meet our needs. Naturally, there was no such vehicle reserved for us. I, being a little hot tempered occasionally, briefly entertained the notion of Avis-cerating this jackass where he stood. However, Young-and-Puss-Faced told us that the Town and Country in the lot was an equivalent vehicle and after a brief inspection of said vehicle, we were satisfied, and fired up to hit the road.
Upon being asked if we were all going to drive, we found out we needed to sign additional driver agreements. The pubescent lad behind the counter moaned audibly as he realized there were no more of these magical documents that would enable us to harness the raw power of the Chrysler Town and Country we had before us. A second non-testes-descended employee arrived, having driven up to the office (we assume legally, but who knows) and upon having this information conveyed to him, also made a groaning noise, replying “I’ll be right back” and promptly hauled his skinny ass away to the “other office”, which we were told was less than 5 minutes away.
20 minutes later, when accurate math calculations ceased to exist on our planet, he arrived, and we finished up. Lively banter ensued with the two tweens and we were finally on our way, already later than we had imagined.
L: Yes. This is true. This particular office was run by two twelve year olds.
It seems every time we rent a vehicle, something goes wrong, and it’s usually with the reservation. On one trip last year we were told they “didn’t even have a vehicle for us”. And we had to scramble to another place just to get a van.
But in the end we all kept a sense of humour about this particular situation, and were joking around with the lads as we signed off and got the keys to the rental.
And the additional driver thing seemed to work out pretty well as we all took shifts driving throughout the day from when we left at 12:35 PMish until we arrived at our hotel in Tennessee at 1:00 AMish.
SisterKissing
A: Lioux and I decided that instead of trying to figure out a way to double post things between our blogs or picking different posts to split up, that we ought to start a separate blog for our road trips, starting with this one. Hence, SisterKissing was born. We figure we can do it for this time around, and if we want to revive it whence next we travel, we can. Lioux, thoughts?
L: Yes. I think it will be good for ANY and ALL our road trips, maybe even some local shows and rehearsals. Plus I thinking it’ll be interesting Co-Blogging.
A: Absolutely. It’ll be super fun to poke each other all day long with funny ideas for posts and then disappoint fans and readers when they don’t live up to expectations.
L: Yes. I think it will be good for ANY and ALL our road trips, maybe even some local shows and rehearsals. Plus I thinking it’ll be interesting Co-Blogging.
A: Absolutely. It’ll be super fun to poke each other all day long with funny ideas for posts and then disappoint fans and readers when they don’t live up to expectations.
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