Happy 2024 folks. I had to pause with the retelling of this vacation at right around the part below marked by an asterisk because the retelling of this nightmarish vacation gave me some PTSD trauma. I also paused it because I was considering using it as a submission to another journal but haven’t gotten an angle that would work, so you all get the real account.
If you’ve been with me this far, you’ve read Part I and Part II, and understand that by this point I had been up for twelve hours and had yet to reach my destination. The flight from Chicago landed in Myrtle Beach at 4pm EST, right around check-in time. Things were starting to look up as a concierge from the resort called during our layover to ask about my estimated arrival time.
I decided to be optimistic about our delay as it gave me time to rent a car and not have to be stuck waiting for check-in, the standard of which was 4pm and early, which would have been only 1pm. Had I taken that straight flight, I would have landed at 10am.
As you can imagine, the plane ride from Chicago to Myrtle Beach was a lengthy one, but it made it safely and without incident. From the plane to the luggage rack we went and there was nothing out of place. Myrtle Beach International Airport is small but spacious so the walk to the rental car building was short and there was no line. I redeemed the Manager’s Special rental, which to my surprise was a Ford F-150, a huge pickup truck meant for lumberjacks. I tried asking for another but was told the manager’s special only included the big-ass truck. A “should-have moment”: I should have asked for another vehicle as this was too much for me.
The good news about a truck this big is that for the time that I drove it, the gas needle hardly budged so I didn’t even fill it upon my return. The bad news was almost everything about the truck.
I had to climb in. I am a reasonably tall woman at 5’6”, and I have long legs, but still, climbing in this truck felt like I was mounting a horse. I had to use the sidebar to pull up. I also had to slide out of it as my feet dangled a foot from the ground upon dismount. Keep in mind that I am the same person who has had two breaks to my right foot going off a high step. I only rented a car at the suggestion of my cousin who thought I would need to get around.
The reality is that I could have taken a taxi, a Lyft, an Uber, or even a golf cart from the airport to the condo. I could have also done the same to the min WalMart Market, and had it been warmer, perhaps even walked almost everywhere we went. As it stood, the truck was only taken out for two of the days we stayed, not including the traverse on arrival and departure.
However, it only took me five seconds to put a scrape on the passenger side near the rear wheel. This was after successfully maneuvering backward into a space in the garage, not once, but twice. It happened on the way to Target where I was only going to pick up a small tube facial cleanser, and Ayden wanted something additional to snack on, having gone through a pack of mini muffins and another of cookies. I had parked next to a concrete barrier and on pulling out, I heard a scrunchy scrape. Like the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, I* repeated the phrase “ohpleaseohpleaseohplease” in the hopes that what had happened had not happened.
It happened. WTF? FML (grownups, ask your kids). IDFBT**.
And of course, I didn’t get the extra insurance offered by the rental car company because my insurance covers this and I had never before gotten into so much as a fender-bender with a rental car because it’s not mine to destroy. Did I mention that my late husband’s car had been stolen on my birthday and I’d just finished closing a claim? Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease don’t drop me, GEICO.
What could I do except head to Target as planned and call a body shop in the hopes that I could at least get an estimate. The only problem is that I am in another state with no clue where to go. I see a Napa Auto Parts store and pull in, asking the clerk if they know anyone since there was a wall of business cards behind the counter of vehicle-related businesses. The clerk plucks one off for me, and I can’t even tell you their gender, not because they were representing any LGBTQIA+ group but because I cannot remember what this person looked like. That should give you an idea of how scrambled I was although I had to appear calm for the kiddo’s sake.
On the way to Target, I called the body shop, which did not have any openings for the next week. After hearing the verbal diarrhea of my situation, the clerk gave me the names of two other shops. Neither of those shops had any openings for repairs either, but one did offer me an estimate appointment. I made it for Thursday though I will admit, I never followed up and visited.
Stuff was retrieved from Target—a less than $40 trip, which can also attest to my level of trauma because I NEVER spend less than $40 in Target in any city I visit or reside in (or rarely at Wegman’s either [today, I only spent $24 but that is because I stayed focused and did not wander]). We made it back to the resort without incident and this time, I just parked out in the open parking lot in an empty section before sliding back down out of the truck and going inside.
But do you think that’s all the trauma from this vacation?
If you’ve said to yourself, ohnothere’smore, you would be correct. But I will regale you with that later. The silver lining is that GEICO did take care of the claim at least to my knowledge, and as of now, I am still insured.
I won’t keep you waiting in suspense as long for the last part of this saga. Stayed tuned for another episode.
In case you didn’t figure it out: **I Don’t Fucking Believe This.