[DeTomaso] This one's easier to read--Chris Kimball 2013 POCA Fun Rally day 10

[Christopher Kimball]

April 30, 2013

 

I didn’t have time to
disclose this in my lasts entry, but today I need to come clean.  Yesterday, Brian finally found out I don’t
have a sense of direction.  

 

Until now, he’s had no
idea it’s not just a poor sense of direction—I have absolutely no idea how to
get from point A to point B without a GPS. 
That’s why it’s so hilariously ironic that I have been the one leading
our two-car caravan during this entire trip.

 

The giveaway happened
when, for some unknown reason, my GPS decided to take us into Twin Falls via a
circuitous route over hither and yon, through neighborhoods, farmland and
obscure side streets.  I even missed one
turnoff because it appeared to be nothing more than a dirt road.  Besides, I was concentrating on adjusting the
balance control on my stereo, and assumed I’d see a great big sign, “time to
turn now if you want to get to your hotel.”

 

At this point, Brian may
have begun to have an inkling that all was not right in my hippocampus (to make
sense of that obscure reference, check out this article from Scientific
American:  

 

http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=london-taxi-memory).

 

As I was making a U-turn
(something I’ve done a myriad of times during my post-16-year-old life) he rolled
down his window, and said, words to this effect, “Where are you going?”  I explained I had everything under control,
adding in a voice too quiet for him to hear, “I hope this stupid GPS knows what
it’s doing.”

 

Since last week we arrived
from the opposite direction, I wasn’t able to discern exactly where the hotel
was located.  Fortunately, however, I
spied the neon sign for The Golden Corral. 
I knew that purveyor of all things delicious was just across the parking
lot from the hotel, so I drove up to the Golden Corral and parked.  My plan was to tell Brian that since the
Golden Corral was closing in 25 minutes, I drove there so we could “get while
the getting’ was good.”  That way, I
could just follow him to the hotel after dinner, and he’d be none the wiser.

 

My plan went askew,
however, when Brian rolled down his window, and asked why I drove to the restaurant,
since the hotel was only about 5 yards away. 
Looking up, I realized he was right, and my goose was cooked.  I came clean and admitted to Brian my
directional leadership had been a big scam from the beginning of the trip.  I threw myself at his mercy, and fortunately,
he forgave me.  

 

Today was uneventful,
until we hit the snowstorm—but I’ll get to that in a minute.

 

When organizing this trip,
I had been cajoled into signing up for the Choice Hotel Corporation’s “Choice Privileges”
program.  I was told I would get a free
night’s stay for my trouble.  I’m always
skeptical about these promotional things, and I indicated as such to the
energetic young man on the phone.   He
was insistent a free night for me would be the result.  Begrudgingly, I had him re-book all my
reservations so I’d be “in the system” and in line for my free night’s stay.

 

I’ll give you one guess
what happened.  When we arrived last
night, I cheerfully asked the woman behind the hotel’s check-in counter to
redeem my “Choice points” so I wouldn’t be charged for the stay.  She (of course) informed me she couldn’t do
that—I’d have to do it “on line.”

 

I slightly-less-than-cheerfully
told her about the enthusiastic, young man’s promise.  She said I should call customer service,
which (of course) had closed for the evening.

 

So, this morning before I
even showered, I called customer service and talked to Rene, who said I was, how
can I put this nicely—out of luck.  

 

Not willing to accept this
answer (Vicki would say I never think the rules apply to me), I asked for a
supervisor.  Marin came on the line, and
told me the exact same thing.  I again
said that a promise is a promise, no matter how small, and I’d be very happy to
talk with her supervisor.  

 

The next face on the totem
pole was someone from a different customer service department.  I assume that’s the department which deals
with customers who are no longer cheerful, and are bordering on becoming
obnoxious.

 

After enjoying a few
minutes of distorted elevator music, I was connected with Eric.  I explained, for the third time, my
plight.  Eric looked up the name of the
original, energetic young man who had made all these apparently unfulfillable
promises.  His name was Ivan.   Eric
said he couldn’t give me a free night, but he would be glad to have Ivan
reprimanded for his misdeeds.  I
explained I didn’t really care what happened to Ivan (as long as it wasn’t the
same thing that happened to the gorilla of the same name that used to inhabit
the B & I shopping center in Tacoma); I just wanted my free night.  

 

He told me that wasn’t
possible.

 

Ignoring the definition of
insanity, I did the same thing I did before—I asked for another supervisor.

 

This time, I was connected
with a man named Chris—which I thought might be a good omen. 

 

 It was. 


 

He contacted the hotel,
and they agreed to accept my accumulated Choice points in lieu of my
hard-earned cash.  Once I had confirmed
this is what actually happened, I called the customer service number again and
told them to give Chris the appropriate accolades for saving a customer.  

 

When I say “saved,” I mean
it in the business sense, not the spiritual one.  My salvation has already been taken care of,
and is one of the reasons I managed to avoid spewing forth a torrent of
profanity, starting at the third customer service representative.  The moral to this story is that persistence pays
off.

 

With that 45 minutes of
wasted time out of the way, we set off on today’s travel adventure.

 

Today’s biggest problem
was discovered when we went to the gas station to fill up for the 6-hour
drive.  During the night, I had removed
my car cover due to high winds (I was afraid the constant, violent flapping
would wear off the paint along the edges of my car).  Since my car was uncovered, the hotel
personnel decided to turn on the hotel’s sprinkler system so my car would
become completely soaked.  Due to the
hardness of the water, this morning there were spots all over the front of my
car.

 

“No problem,” I thought, “I’m
armed with Griot’s Speed Shine.”  

 

Horror of horrors; the
spots didn’t magically disappear with the first swipe of the micro-fiber
cloth.  Or the second.  Or the third. 
In fact, after quite a while of spraying and wiping, faint spots still
remained.

 

A passerby stopped to
comment on the Panteras, and when I groused about the spots, he told me he had
moved to the area some time ago, and discovered for himself the hardness of the
water and the damage it could do to the finish of newly-washed cars.  He did give me hope, however, by telling me
they will buff out.  Fortunately, I own a
Griot’s Garage buffing machine—the finest in the world, in fact—so once home, I
will be busy buffing (again).

 

We drove as far as Meridian,
just outside of Boise, and stopped for gas and lunch.  Because we ate at a fast-food place, A&W
Root-beer, those two occurrences could conceivably be reversed…

 

I shouldn’t be so critical
of A&W Root-beer stands.  Ever since
they merged with Kentucky Fried Chicken, it’s a blissful place to dine.  I had a large root-beer float, two drumsticks
(appropriate for a percussionist), and a side order of baked beans (refer to
the “gas and lunch” comment above).  

 

Lunch was delicious, and
to preserve this memorable occasion, Brian and I took pictures of each other
sitting next to a life-sized statue of Colonel Sanders himself.

 

The second leg of the
drive is when things got interesting. 
Going over the pass I noticed a strange fog in the air.  Looking closer, I realized it was snow! 

 

“Wow,” I thought, “now we’ve
had all four seasons in less than two weeks--searing heat, cool breezes,
rainstorms, snow, and a couple of dust storms thrown in for good measure.”  

 

Fortunately, the snow didn’t
stick, so we made it to Hermiston unscathed.

 

After unpacking the cars,
we needed a place to eat.  Under the
heading of “you can’t have enough of a good thing,” we went to the only restaurant
within walking distance—another A&W Root-beer stand!  Unfortunately, this really was just a
stand.  There was no Colonel Sanders to
be found and therefore no chicken (unless you count the compressed, lumps-made-from-entrails
they call “chicken strips”).  

 

I enjoyed a large orange
freeze (with extra vanilla ice cream added) and a fish sandwich.  Notice the emphasis I continue to place on
nutritional balance for my meals (in this case it helped make up for the Bugles
and Frappuccino I had an hour earlier in the car): Orange takes care of the
fruit group, Fish takes care of the fish group, the buns take care of the bread
group, and I think I detected a piece of lettuce buried somewhere underneath
the tartar sauce, so there’s your vegetable!

 

Following dinner and a
lively discussion about politics and religion, Brian and I retired to the pool,
but not before I shined up the Pantera and put its cover on for the night.  I’ve decided the wind and car cover can’t do
more damage than the elements did yesterday.

 

When I say, “retired to
the pool,” what I mean is “sit in the hot tub.” 
This gives the impression of physical fitness because there is a
swimming pool only a few feet away, yet all you need do is relax and let the
bubbles perform their magic.  

 

Just being seen walking
out of any athletic-type facility while holding a towel gives anyone who sees
you the impression you have just performed some sort of “exercise routine” (I
think they’re called).    

 

I was surprised to find
the water in the hot tub considerably hot (hence the name), so I left after
about 45 minutes.  Brian had become
embroiled in a conversation with another guy in the hot tub.  They were discussing grinding off the top of
Brian’s garage floor, sealing it with epoxy to prevent moisture seepage, and
then giving it a topcoat.  As thrilling a
subject as this is, I felt the call of the keyboard and managed to tear myself
away.  I must admit, I was also a little
uncomfortable sitting in a hot tub with anyone talking about seepage.

 

The other reason I left so
soon had to do with a couple frolicking in the pool.  At one point there was a wardrobe
malfunction.  

 

It was not a pretty sight,
and I didn’t want to risk seeing that
again.

 

After Brian was
sufficiently shriveled, he came back to the room and we again launched into
solving the world’s problems (which we did, by the way).

 

Tomorrow is the last day
of the trip.  It’s a relatively short
drive—we’re going to take the shortest route home, which actually takes us
slightly north before taking us south.  

 

When I get home, I’ll try
to write my final 2013 entry.  It will be
difficult to run upstairs to the computer while ignoring the five-foot stack of
mail I’m sure will be waiting for me, but I’ll do my best.