It Was Just A Nick

Chris and I don't own a car. We used to before China, but after several headaches over dead car batteries that had been sitting too long without being turned over and mice threatening to move into our carburetors, we decided it was just easier to rent cars when we come back to the States. Unfortunately, we never rent ones as fancy and fun as this 1957 Chevy that cruised past us today on the road down to Virginia, but our standard SUVs get the job done and somehow manage to hold all our luggage!

We fly home to the States several times a year, and when we land in our small hometown airport after a full 24 hours of traveling from Asia, I head straight to the National or Avis counter, pick up our keys and make my way out to the lot to get our car, leaving Chris to collect the luggage (which, after 24 hours of traveling and three different transfers, we hope has arrived simultaneously with us at our destination!) But on one particularly cold afternoon, after he had hauled the luggage off the belt, Chris decided he would go get the car himself while I waited in the nice warm terminal with the baggage. What a guy!

I waited patiently, trying not to think about how tired I was. Neither of us had slept on the trip over, always a sure sign that we were going to be fighting major fatigue and turbo jet lag for the next several days. The most debilitating thing about jet lag, especially when flying backwards across the international date line, is that your brain knows it has to keep functioning just to get your body home, yet every fiber of your being is screaming to curl up in the nearest comfy chair and fall into a coma-like slumber. Your eyes are bleary, your head is foggy, your hair's a mess and your clothes look slept in (oh, if only.) Why they let people in our condition rent cars is beyond me, but they did.

Eventually, Chris pulled up to the curb, opened the trunk and started loading the bags into the back. He looked a little disconcerted and finally said, "I ran into a support wire in the lot and scraped the bottom, I think. I might have scratched the sides a little, too." "Oh, don't worry," I replied as I helped him load the car. "I'm sure it's nothing," at which point I opened the rear passenger door, looked in and saw half the rear quarter panel and part of the back bumper in the back seat!

I didn't know whether to shriek with shock or laughter, so I probably did a little of both! The important thing was that Chris was OK and the only thing bruised was his pride! The poor guy was so exhausted and the wire in question was so poorly marked that he ran into it before he even knew it was there! When, much later, I finally heard the details of what had actually happened, it was a bit more complicated and involved a large van cutting him off, but the essential facts remained: half the car was in the back seat!

Finally comprehending what had happened and making a speedy decision that we needed a new vehicle, I calmly walked back up to the rental desk, explained we'd had a small mishap and asked if we could possibly get another car. Being a small-town airport, the rental agent knew us and was happy to accommodate, even so far as coming outside to see if he could help repair the problem himself. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it was all way out of his league, but one look at the car made that abundantly clear. The only thing funnier than my own shock and reaction to Chris' driving mishap that day was watching the look of complete astonishment cross Jerry's face as he took in the contents of the back seat. It was priceless! All he said was, "Oh yes, you're going to need a new vehicle." The consummate customer service professional!

So we filled out more paperwork, picked up our new car and headed carefully home to get a good night's sleep. It's all behind us now, and Chris' stellar driving record remains in tact, but I'll never forget how hard I laughed that day when I saw half the car sitting in the back seat, and my poor exhausted husband shaking his head, sighing, "I thought it was just a nick!"