Ready for part II of this story. Or the back story and how it turned out. Or the rest of the story to get all Paul Harvey about it?
I drove my father to Orlando. I did this because my mother's doctor didn't think the long drive would be good for her (she has blood clot issues) and because my Dad's eyesight is increasingly lousy.
So, I got myself out of bed Wednesday at 6:45, showered, shaved and trundled over to their house, ready to make the 18 hour or so journey. We did it two days, not being incredible masochist nor having other pressing engagements.
My Dad and I generally get along well. We haven't always been especially close, but we're gotten moreso in the past few years. 99.9% of the time we are just fine. But when we fight, brother, we FIGHT. We got along perfectly on this trip -- that wasn't the source of what drama there was. However, the possibility that I might have to spend two solid days locked in a tiny cube with someone with whom I furious yet could not punch had me slightly nervous. Thankfully that wasn't a problem.
No problems until just after lunch. We stopped about halfway between Birmingham and Montgomery (Alabama) for gas, at which point Dad noticed that the rear driver's side tire was utterly flat. The friendly lady at the convenience story (everybody was very friendly in the deep South, even friendlier than they are here) told us there was a Wal-Mart at the exit we'd passed just 3 miles ago, so with the help of a can of Fix-a-Flat we limped back up I-65 and spent 45 minutes (quick!) getting our flat tire replaced (215 70R15).
Back on the road, to Dothan where we had some decent Barbeque for dinner at joint with friendly waitresses (or at least on friendly waitress who waited upon us.) Then on into Florida to Tallahassee where we stayed at a La Quinta. I watched the football game which was exciting.
Didn't sleep well, but I hadn't expected to as I never sleep well in hotel/motel/hostelries.
Now, I should explain the game plan a little here. Dad and I were driving down Wednesday and Thursday. Mom was flying down Thursday morning, leaving the car (Dad's Prius) in the airport parking lot. We would meet her at the Orlando Airport, they would drive to where they were staying and I would fly back to Louisville. A lovely little plan.
The drive through Northwest Florida on Thursday morning was great. I've never been in that part of the state, and the road we were on was almost empty. Interesting scenery, easy driving. It did take a little longer that we thought. My flight left at 2:45. We made it to Orlando Int'l at about 2:15. So I was a little stressed. Gave Mom a quick kiss, got the parking ticket for the Prius, made sure she found Dad and then hustled. Turned out, it took about 30 seconds to get a boarding pass and no more than 3 minutes to get through security. A quick monorail ride to the gate (They loves 'em some monorails in Orlando!) and I was waiting in line for the first leg of my flight, to Birmingham.
Uneventful flight. When I got there I called Mrs. West, checked in, let her know where I was, vented a little about the layover I mentioned in the OP. I had something dreadfully overpriced to eat, then unpacked the laptop and settled down to a little Alpha Centauri. I think I had just finished building the Citizens Defense Force when my phone rang. It was Mrs. West.
"Hey, how's everything?" she asked. She had that tone in her voice.
"Just fine," I said.
"Really?"
"Really. As far as I know..."
"You didn't happen to forget anything in Florida, did you?" That tone again.
"I don't think so. I put all of my stuff in my briefcase..." at that moment, comprehension dawned. I knew what I'd forgot.
The keys to the Prius. Mom had one set, Dad had the other. I had none.
I said "Fuck" considerably louder than I am wont to do, at least in public places. Then I started laughing.
There followed a flurry of mobile calls between Dad, Mrs. West and his Toyota dealer. My suggestion was that he just overnight the keys and we'd eat an extra day of parking, but no. They were forced to run a security gauntlet several times fiercer than anything I saw that day. Blessedly, I wasn't involved in this part of the project. My phone battery was dying and I wanted to preserve as much juice as possible, so I got off the hook.
Remember that layover I was complaining about in the OP. 3 and a half hours. I've had worse (8 hours in Newark once and I was flat broke. Or two hours in Kansas City with a rampaging case of influenza). Not the worst thing that I've ever had to face, but the plane was 45 minutes late, so that added insult to whatever injury there was.
I have to admit that the flight from Birmingham to Louisville was wonderful. Only 45 minutes -- about half of what I'd expected. And I got a front row seat on the side where the bulkhead is far away. I could stretch my legs out. And I was on the aisle, so I could raise the armrest and let my, uh, fundament expand.
Landed in Louisville, walked to the terminal and found my lovely family waiting for me. That was very nice of them. They could have just stuck the key under the mat and gone about their business. But they wanted to see me. They were in good spirits. I was too, but rather tired.
We tromped over to the garage to the Prius (Mrs. West had managed to park right next to it). She gave me the key that the dealer had made (for the low, low price of only $17.50). The girls and I got in (Mrs. West was going to work -- she works overnight, at the airport as a matter of fact). I inserted the key, turned it, lights and radio came on, and that was it. The car did not start.
I made sure it was in Park. Nope. Pushed every button I knew to push. Nope.
So, we called Toyota Roadside Assistance. After an explanation about as long as this post, they sent a tow truck.
Ten minutes later I noticed I had a voice mail. It was the tow truck driver. He couldn't leave until he'd talked to us. He wanted to know which airport we were at.
I'm actually quite proud of myself -- I think I exhibited an astounding level of self-control. I did not give in to the grave temptation to berate this bonehead. Louisville, while it does in fact have two airports (one large and one tiny), only has one airport with a parking garage. But I forbore and he showed up within the half-hour.
By this time it was about 10:50. The dealer stayed open until Midnight. If we got there in time they could program the key (they had somehow neglected to tell us that the key needed to be programmed and that the car had to be present for them to do this) and we could be on our way.
After a little confusion at the parking garage exit we were all on our way. Rather surprisingly we made it to the dealership in ample time.
"Oh, your Dad didn't tell us he needed a Master Key," the garage guy said.
I feel that I was doubly deserving for withholding my withering scorn this time. Why the hell would we go through all this rigamarole to obtain a key that WOULD NOT START THE CAR. But I held my tongue. We were there, the car was there, they could program the key, let's do it and perhaps I will finally reach home.
"Sure, we can do probably do it." Probably? "It'll be an hour's labor. $97.50"
I did a lovely dance across the service bay floor at that point. I whistled a tune. I think it was "I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles."
"Fine, may we just leave it upon the lot for a couple of days until the keys could be sent?"
"OK, but don't leave it too long."
So, today I spent the morning in my new office (another story, with pictures) trying to reach Dad, who has overnighted the keys. I'll go pick up the Prius tomorrow. Everything will be OK. And I think my adrenaline levels are just now returning to normal.
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Topic: Greetings from Birmingham (Read 3209 times)