#96 Don't Panic...
It is 2005.
We are in the parking lot of “Rock City” high atop “Lookout Mountain”.
The children are running in circles around our new minivan as it emits an incessant honking.
The deafening clamor is accompanied by a mysterious flashing red light on the dashboard.
Both are unhelpfully not mentioned anywhere in the owner’s manual.
As the hubby and I frantically try to figure out what this all means, and how on earth to stop it, child number two says cheerfully, “ Maybe it's going to explode!”
We will leave everyone there for a minute.
I should probably have known this particular road trip was vaguely doomed when, the night before we were due to depart, my husband called from his office to say:
“Don’t panic.”
“But you might want to sit down.”
His big news was, indeed, big.
For seven of the ten days of our upcoming vacation we suddenly now had no place to stay.
It turns out this is the sort of thing that happens when the two brothers who have planned said trip do so by only using the words “spring break”.
And have neglected to attach that phrase to actual dates.
So that the beachfront condo in Florida - the one you have been so looking forward to sharing for a week with your in laws - is about to be occupied by a lot fewer people.
On that fateful evening, (the one I remind you was the night before we were to leave) hubby called sister-in-law to confirm directions, check in procedure, etc.
All was going splendidly until just before my beloved was about to hang up.
Sis: “Everything is all set. See you in a week!”
“In a week?” My sweetie says weakly.
“Don't you mean day after tomorrow?”
“No, next week. Spring Break”
“Um, our Spring Break is THIS week”
Silence.
“I think that's going to be a problem…”
We rejoin his phone call to ME.
My dearest one assures me that he is “on it.”
He will use that new thing – “the internet” – to find us a hotel.
He is about to discover that, internet or no, finding accommodations in Florida during spring break season, on one day’s notice, is a wee bit of a challenge.
Which is how we will find ourselves, not in a beautiful condo, but in a rather grimy La Quinta off HWY 41.
Occupying a room above that of the manager, who apparently cooks nothing but curry for seven days, with walls so thin that the roar of jet engines from the nearby airport will hardly be conducive to peaceful slumber.
But I digress.
When I began this story, we had not yet made it to the Sunshine State.
We were stuck back in Tennessee trying to silence an alarm that was so secret, not only was it nowhere to be found in the owner’s manual, the salesman from the dealership also had not thought it was worth mentioning.
I have to say, it might have been nice to know that, in this particular Honda Odyssey, if everyone except one person gets out of the van, and if one of those people is holding the key fob, (him) and uses it to lock all the doors, and the last person (me) opens the locked door from the inside to exit the vehicle, all hell breaks loose.
After five minutes of chaos the noise and the flashing lights stop.
We breathe a sigh of relief.
Until a minute later when it all starts up again.
Because the damned thing is on a cycle.
That will repeat unceasingly while everyone in the parking lot smirks at the rubes who don’t know how to operate their new vehicle.
Herding the kids back into the van we proceed to drive it down the mountain (still honking) while I call the dealership and try to get an explanation.
Sales guy: “Sorry about that – it says here to put the key into the passenger door keyhole to disable the alarm.”
Me: “There is no keyhole in the passenger door.”
Sales guy: “Then try the driver’s side.”
We try the driver’s side.
It works.
Blessed Silence.
Back up the mountain we go. (I am praying that during our 15 minute absence all witnesses to our embarrassing episode have gone on their merry way.)
We re-enter the parking lot without incident and proceed to explore Rock City.
But the universe isn’t done messing with us yet.
Later, on the same day, I will receive a phone call from the dog sitter informing me that my seven month old border collie has eaten my kitchen.
Copyright© 2024 Anne Morse Hambrock All rights reserved.
(If you missed the story of our most destructive dog ever, you can find it in issue #29).
(So many other ridiculous things happened during this trip - I will put some of them in future newsletters.)
Panic
This is exactly what I remember - waking up every morning looking at my phone with my fingers half over my eyes afraid to see what blew up while I was asleep.
I am trying not to panic.
It’s getting harder.
If you have tips for staying calm during all of this mayhem please share them - I could use some help…
There Is NO MAIL today!
I have explained to the mail obsessed dog that today is President’s Day and there is NO MAIL!
We actually spent five minutes arguing about it.
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