There’s a well-known romanticism associated with the road trip, particularly the American one. Hollywood has a love affair with the road trip movie; Thelma & Louise, Easy Rider, Rain Man: they’re all classics, and cannot fail but give you the urge to pop on your headscarf and go on the run from the law. As part of planning for a proposed summer road trip in the US with a group of friends, I took it upon myself to do a bit of car rental research. I was tremendously excited about the whole thing; in my commitment to the role, I may or may not have pretended to be slightly autistic for a few minutes. Come on, it was either him or Tom Cruise, and he thinks he’s an immortal alien spiritual being, trapped on planet Earth in the body of an actor.
I started by doing a bit of research for the main rental companies. And that’s when it got a bit weird. Amidst the household names (Hertz, Alamo, Avis etc.), I Googled across Dodge-y Dealings and Rent-a-Wreck before deciding to stick to the big guns. Unfortunately, after reaching a number of dead-ends due to my unwillingness to give out personal details in order to get a quote (name, email, number of pets, inside leg measurement etc.), I U-turned to the telephone in order to speed things up a bit. A few punched buttons later, and I was transferred to Dexter at Thrifty Car Rentals. And that’s when it got a bit weirder.
After the initial 18 minutes of formalities, we had established that Dexter was a Virgo and that I wanted to go to Las Vegas. He was a nice enough fellow; and as someone who has spent many a working hour following a telephone script, I completely empathised with him. But the sheer number of questions. I was actually quite relieved that he took some of the pressure off me by talking about his step-mother’s orange grove, but the novelty wore off fairly quickly. All I wanted was for him to say “Mr Sarandon, your car will cost you $XYZ; have a lovely day and a terrific journey. By the way, could I just say how dashing you look on the telephone this afternoon.” Alas, the price never came. When a sharp intake of breath pierced through the receiver, I knew Dexter was approaching the insurance section:
Impending. Doom.
“Alrighty sir, let’s talk about your coverage. And before you answer, no I don’t mean whether you’re wearing PJs or not!” (Did I mention Dexter was ever-so-slightly camp?)”
“Yes, well I’d like the standard package please”, I replied, assertively. Nip this one in the bud.
“Ooooooo I’ll bet you would!” (Did I mention?) he drawled. “No, seriously, what we’ve got for you is the premium package, which includes all of your essentials, as well as the HAC and the RSVP.”
RSVP? Had I unwittingly invited him on this road trip? I enquired:
“Oh that’s the Roadside Snake Venom Protection, sir. It covers you in case of attack from any of the Mojave Desert’s most dangerous critters. Y’all never know when they’re gonna getcha.”
This was outrageous. Thrifty were taking me for a ride (no pun intended. Unless you found it funny, in which case, I’ll take it). “And the HAC?” I asked.
“Hitchhiker Attack Cover, sir.”
Thelma cocked her pistol.
I politely told Dexter to forget about the unnecessary extras, and after a fair chunk of insistence, I managed to persuade him that the standard coverage was the one for me. From then on, we made some progress. Ten minutes later and we had established that I was an Aries and Dexter’s step-mother had just signed a lucrative deal with Tropicana. I mentioned the type of car I was looking for, and with the faint sound of rapid typing, I sensed the finish line was close. Dexter had other ideas:
“OK, sir; now I know your preferred choice of vehicle is the Economy class, but I’m here to tell y’all today that we here at Thrifty can give ya an extra special deal on our Convertible or Amphibious ranges.”
“No, thank you, the Economy will be jus…hang on a second, Amphibious?”
Turns out that for an extra $150 I could have booked the Chevrolet Pacific, an offshoot of the Aveo which apparently does up to 80 miles in marshland and/or the ocean. Tempted though I was to make the holiday a voyage, I decided to keep my wheels firmly on the ground and declined. Dexter seemed to understand, explaining that if I’d gone for it, he would have been forced to include an additional insurance policy; the Waiver for Accidental Vehicle Ebb, or WAVE.
The rest of the conversation was pleasant enough, although Dexter was getting rather friendly. He subtly hinted that he was free during the last week of July, and though I can’t be sure, I’d venture to say that he offered me a 15% discount for the “privilege” of letting him come along. I put him down gently, explaining that we already had a full carload, to which he muttered something about there being another way.
Eventually he gave me the quote, and after hearing it, I even considered the discount. As I thanked him for his service and hung up, a strange image crept into my head of myself and four friends coasting down the highway, drinking freshly squeezed orange juice, with Dexter on rollerblades following behind, holding onto a tow rope.
