I woke up at my friend’s house in the middle of a serious snowstorm. I roused my other buddy from the couch and told him, “We passed out. We gotta get out of here.”
“What time is it?” he asked.
I glanced at the digital clock across the room and vaguely made out some numbers. “Threes and fours, man – we gotta go.”
“You’re on your own, Sid. I’m sleeping here. Good luck.”
Although my host’s family lived on a steep hill, I was a pro at snow driving, so I wasn’t worried. Until about halfway down the hill, when I could neither brake nor steer. “Here goes!” I thought, as I managed to swerve the car sideways just before it slammed into a stone wall at the bottom of the hill.
I didn’t have to look to know that this wasn’t going to be pretty. So I went around the neighborhood the long, less steep, way, feeling like I was riding in one of those coin-operated kiddie cars in front of Zayre’s, back to my friend’s home, and went back to sleep. Whereupon I forgot that I ever took my rental car out that evening.
The next morning, my friend’s father, a dentist, had to go to the office for an emergency procedure. But when he got outside and saw my car, with the left rear wheel at a 45-degree angle to the pavement, he laughed so hard that he had to come back into the house for another cup of coffee before leaving.
I retraced my route on foot and found various mystery car parts in the snow along the way. I also discovered that the framed artwork I was transporting had littered the trunk with shards of broken glass upon impact.
I called American Express to ask about my collision coverage, and as all of the other hungover refugees who slept at the house anxiously awaited, I was able to announce, “I’m covered! And no deductible!”
A chant arose from the assembled crowd: “No de-ductible! No de-ductible! No de-ductible!”
Meanwhile, my friend’s brother was experiencing engine trouble, so he had called a tow truck. The wrecker showed up, saw my disabled car on the street and assumed it must be the vehicle in question. They towed it away, to God knows where.
I called Hertz and arranged a replacement vehicle, in the same color so it wasn’t too obvious to my parents when I got home, and enjoyed the rest of my Christmas vacation.
I later got a phone call and then a letter from Hertz, inquiring about their missing vehicle, both of which I ignored. When they eventually wrote a strongly worded follow-up letter, I used law-firm stationery (of a law firm where I was a lowly paralegal at the time) to explain that I had filled out their stupid forms at the airport and it was not my problem that their car was missing.
I still have a very polite letter from Hertz apologizing for my inconvenience.
Hey, that reminds me: Can I borrow your car tonight?
Image via Flickr.
