James, the jovial Enterprise "We'll Pick You Up" guy showed up on time and in subcompact style in a sporty little Fiat. I was at the dealer dropping off my little green car to basically have the entire passenger's side replaced and/or repaired after an unfortunate incident with a concrete pole at a gas station. This meet up with James was all pre-arranged--an excellent orchestra of cooperation among the dealer, the insurance company, and James's firm. Everything humming as smoothy as the engine of my cute little car.
Except… at work, earlier, I had made the unfortunate discovery that my owlet--owl wallet, get it??-- was not on my person. Let's face it, that's not really too surprising,..but I'd worked really hard to make sure I had all my bases covered this morning: gas in the car, all my supplies, any paperwork I had from the insurance company. I thought I was a model of organization until I wanted to buy a cup of coffee…and, oops, no owlet.
Then I realized that there was a wee chance no one was going to give me a car unless I could produce the driver's license (I hoped) was in the owlet. I played through several scenarios. I had actually thought the rental company would arrive with a bit of pesky paperwork we'd deal with right then and there, at the dealer, and I'd drive right off the lot. I figured at some point, they'd ask about the license, and someone at the dealer would be like, "yeah, she's all good. Checked her out thoroughly when she bought the lil green car over there," and then I'd drive home.
But when I got to the dealer they kept reinforcing the "picking me up" idea, like when the guy arrived, we'd be going somewhere. I assumed we were just going to my house to take care of the paperwork. I remember thinking it was a little silly that they wanted to come all the way to my house, and I pictured us in my living room filling out the paperwork. I hoped the laundry was off the couch. I decided to text my daughter and have her look for my owlet/license so it would just be sitting there when we arrived. No one would have to know it had ever been lost, right?
Clearly, I wasn't thinking this through--I mean, what was going to happen then, in my living room when the paper work was done? Did I think the Enterprise guy was going to call the main office and have a "We'll Pick You Up" Guy come for him, while he waited on my couch sipping coffee??
Regardless, I waited to be picked up in the dealer's lounge, finally getting a cup of coffee-- bad--reading texts from The Baker about the search for the owlet:
|Yep, that's my toothbrush sticking our from her mouth|
At this point, James rolls up in the Fiat. I figure I'll just tell him that we're looking for the owlet, and since it's becoming so complicated, why don't we just go ask the dealer to vouch for me, or get him a copy of my license from a file or something. This is the point where his smile fades. James explains that he needs a visual of my real, physical of license. It's like, the law or something.
Then I suggest we just go on ahead to the house and I am sure it will be found when we get there. "I can't just give you a ride home," James said, and at this point I think he's just being difficult, because we were going home anyway, right, to sit on the couch and fill out paper work and drink coffee hopefully not next to the pile of clothes, and who is to say that the owlet won't be found by the time we get there?
James is having nothing to do with any of my plans, and basically hands me a business card and tells me to call him when I have a license. I feebly ask if I will still get to have the cute little Fiat--because you did click on that link, right? You saw how cute it was, didn't you?
James says it will be waiting for me when I find my credentials and drives off. I sit forlornly on some concrete steps to text The Baker to come get me. A couple meaner by and think I'm homeless, most likely because I have lots of bags and no coat. But I never wear a coat and they don't know this, so to make them feel better I move back inside and watch for The Baker out the window.
At home, I find the wallet immediately (it really wasn't The Baker's fault, I just needed a visual on my various messes to remember that i stuffed it in a Target bag at bedtime because it was on the bed and I wanted to sleep, and that makes sense, right, stuffing it in a random bag?)
So I call James back. And I literally think he is coming in the Fiat right away and I start cleaning the living room (the laundry was still there) and I actually PUT ON A POT OF COFFEE and sit and wait, like he's a guest and we're going to visit.
And an hour goes by and I'm like, where's James? So I call the office back and there's been a mix up, so now they are sending Bob. Whatever. Just drop off my Fiat.
And then, a shockingly ugly car pulls outside my house, but the driver--presumably Bob--just SITS THERE. What in the world, Bob, I'm thinking, the coffee isn't getting an fresher--and what is with the ugly car? Where is my Fiat??"
It becomes evident that Bob is just going to continue to just sit there, so I slip on some ill-matching shoes and go on out.
"Where's your coat?" Bob calls.
"I never wear a coat, it's ok," I explain. "I was expecting a Fiat," I offered, by way of introducing the elephant in the vehicle. Bob looks confused, almost like he's waiting. "Are we, um, gong somewhere?"
"Yes, to the office. This isn't your car. Go get a coat. I'll wait."
So I dutifully grab owlet and a hoodie, and some better-matching shoes trudge back out to the car.
Bob is delightful, and, slowly we piece together the story (minus anything having to do with how it never would have worked for anyone to bring me a car--in the interest of full disclosure, I only realized that during the typing of this post.)
What happens from here is just disappointing. James is back at the office, waiting, but with the news that he gave the Fiat to someone else. I drive off in a hideously ugly car, and little shopworn at that.
My husband says he hopes I've learned my lesson about being better organized. After all, he says, "It cost you a Fiat."
I say maybe it's for the best. While waiting for The Baker, I actually caught myself googling the cost of a Fiat. Just out of curiosity. I'm notorious for second guessing, the grass is greener type stuff. Now, with ugly car? The only thing I can think is how excited I'll be to reclaim my own green grass--er--Spark. It's an exercise in appreciation. That cost me a Fiat.