More travel drama
I’m so tired I had to go back and make sure I wasn’t double-posting something.
When my parents finally get to the rental counter about half an hour after I posted my last entry, it took probably fifteen minutes to get the car rented. Nothing ever goes quickly with my dad, he worked his way up the corporate ladder in sales so he can’t help but schmooze and try to get the best deal every time he goes to spend money somewhere, but I’m fairly certain the lone rental agent at the counter that late at night didn’t have the authority to do anything beyond giving us the car that had been assigned. Once we get out of the parking area, my dad can’t seem to use the Waze app on his phone to save his life, so after making about a million illegal U-turns to get back to where we were supposed to be he gives the phone to me and tells me to tell him what it’s saying (because he’s been listening like a champ so far). He blew through an RFID toll booth, insisting that the way it works in California is they take a picture of your tag and send a bill to the driver every month. Um, no, dad, I looked it up on the website and you HAVE TO HAVE A TRANSPONDER just like you do in Florida, and Georgia, and New York, and every damn where else they have automated toll booths. No telling if we’re going to make it out of the state before the CHiPpies catch up with him.
An hour and a half later, we make it to the hotel. We’ve got two rooms, one on the first floor, one on the second floor. He wants the one on the first floor, but it’s the room I’ve reserved and he insists to the night manager that she change it. Never mind it’s a different rate and all. So it takes forever to get checked in because in addition to changing the reservations while checking us in, she has to change my dad’s credit card and his billing address (which for some reason he had listed as Connecticut, a state he’s never been to) so of course he’s getting impatient. I’m just trying not to say anything rude because at this point I’ve been up for twenty-three hours and just want to go to the room. We finally get the paperwork sorted, and he goes out to get my mom out of the car and into the room. I go out to start retrieving luggage since we’re at the porte-cochere anyway but my dad sees a parking space and he wants to park first. The only thing is it’s clearly marked COMPACT ONLY and the car we rented is not a compact, not even close. After three attempts to squeeze into the spot he decides he’ll park down in the main lot and drives the hundred or so feet off before I can get their heavy-ass luggage out of the car.
They also inform me that the wedding is going to be very casual and I don’t have to bring a suit or anything. Of course we’re in the car on the way to the hotel with my suit being subjected to abuse in my soft-sided luggage at the time. This is why I don’t travel with my family.