Things experienced so far in LA – part 8

— After we escaped from the clutches of the Scientologists (and here’s the thing: when Alex stood up – her guy stood up – when she started to walk away – he followed her, trying to keep the conversation going … She gave him some line about how she “never does things on impulse – and that has been a real problem for me in my life – I am really working on it …”) we walked along the street, stepping on the stars of Edgar Bergen and BB King, talking a mile a minute about our experiences, and laughing hysterically.

— The sun had started to descend and the sky began to glow with the beginnings of sunset. The tall black silhouettes of the palm trees against the glowing green and deep blue sky stopped my heart. .

— We called Garry, our new Armenian best friend. We were informed that the car was ready. We got all scared and fluttery again and started back for the subway (what?)

— When we emerged at our stop, night had fallen. It was quite spectacular – how quickly it occurred. It seemed that one moment it was day, the next it was twilight.

— Garry explained that the car was fixed, he had replaced the yadda yadda, and he had retro-fitted the thingamajig and it was fine. Then he said the fatal words: “Let’s take it for a test drive.”

— Alex and I got in the car, and Garry literally PEELED out of the garage. It was like that scene in Ferris Bueller. He screamed down the street at 70 miles an hour, and then said, “Get ready …” and as we approached the stop sign, he slammed on the brakes. With a squealing of tires, and with Alex and I hollering like wounded animals, the car came to a complete stop. Alex turned to Garry, and said, sternly, “Don’t EVER do that again.” Garry said, bemused, “But I needed to test the brakes ….” “You scared the CRAP out of me, Garry!” We are now best friends with Garry.

— We tell Garry our plans for the evening. We are now going to drive out to LAX to pick up my car. He tells us how to get there. And I’m tellin’ ya … Garry was a genius. Garry is the kind of guy who knows everything. A guy like that is good to know. I have to say this: I was pretty scared to get behind the wheel again. Especially because now it was night. Oh God. Please let me be safe. Please let me rise to this challenge! Please!!! This day has been so long and we have had enough!

— Alex and I say goodbye to our new-found best friend and drive off into the sparkling Los Angeles night. The car works perfectly. We can’t believe it. Alex raves about how lucky she feels to have found a reliable mechanic, a guy who now knows her, who she can go to, and trust. There’s an interesting feeling shimmering between the two of us … a feeling that we have been, somehow, very very lucky today. We are alive. We are okay.

— We eventually get to the airport region – and I’m starting to stress out. Where is my e-meter when I need it???? I’m just feeling like: God, let the brakes dying on the 101 be the worst thing that happens today. Okay? Let me rise to the occasion, and drive on the freeway by myself, AT NIGHT, and be okay. You can do it, Sheila. You can do it.

— We follow the signs to the Enterprise place. Another thing is stressing me out – because I didn’t know we would be coming out to the airport that day, I didn’t have my printed-out receipt in my bag. I just hoped against hope that that wouldn’t matter and that my credit card would be enough.

— There ends up being some issue with me and my car. Of course. They have no record of me. They ask for my receipt. I am now feeling harassed beyond belief. I explain the situation. I have to say this as well – one of the other things that was so incredible about this particular day was that pretty much every service-oriented person we met that day, every single one, from the yellow-toothed tow truck guy to the Denny’s waiter later on … was kind, polite, and helpful. You know the days when the opposite is true? When every single customer service representative you meet is surly, rude and downright indifferent to your issues? This day was the complete opposite. It was another mini miracle that Alex and I were thankful for. The Enterprise people were very kind – said that this kind of thing happened a lot – and if I still had the confirmation email in my email box I could check my email, and they could get the invoice number from there. Awesome! I can do that!

— But of course for the first time in the history of my email experience, I could not get into my email. It kept bouncing me out at the login page. I couldn’t believe it. What? This has never happened. Ever. I kept trying. Now I didn’t know WHAT to do. Why won’t it let me in? This is my blog email, and there are a couple of different ways in – I tried all of them. Numerous times. Alex hovers beside me, boa quivering with sympathy. She was so WITH me the whole day. hahahaha What a full day. The Enterprise person came over … and watched as I tried again and again to get into my email … She saw that I was getting upset and she said, “Look. Don’t worry. No matter how it happens – you will leave here with a car tonight. So don’t worry.” Uhm … I am now deeply deeply in love with the Enterprise woman. Anyhoo – after 15 minutes of trying, I get into my email. Halleluia. I scroll through. Find the confirmation email. I then click on the link within the email and of course I need some Expedia username and password to even view it. Which I have completely forgotten. Because I’m such a jagoff. So I request them to email me my password (I love the Internet) – and within 2 seconds, my username and password is emailed to me. Voila. I am now into the confirmation email, and there is my invoice number and all is gloriously right with the world.

— There was also an issue because of the apostrophe in my last name. That caused issues with pulling up my invoice on their end. Look, people. MANY MANY folks out there have APOSTROPHES in their last names. It is just the way of the world. It is how we spell our names. It is not OMalley or Omalley – it is O’Malley. There are many Irish people in this country. But computers see an apostrophe and literally have nervous breakdowns and don’t know what to do with us.

— All of this is just the preface to the beautiful miracle: 10 minutes later I was sitting behind the wheel of my brand-new little compact car. Alex and I were beside ourselves. I couldnt’ believe it. I have my car. Could it be that I can just drive out of here – without some identity-policeman pulling me over and saying, “Hang on a second … there’s been a mistake … YOU can’t have a car!”

— I am going to drive Alex out to her car in the lot. I turn the car on. Everything is spanking new. And then somehow I turn on the windshield wipers instead of the headlights and we sit in the car, with spray flying at the windshield, and the wipers going a mile a minute, and I keep THINKING I’ve turned them off … when I’ve only put them on delay … so we would sit there, relieved that the frenzy had stopped – when – WHOOSH – there goes the wipers again. Alex was in hysterics. I tried to keep it together because I knew I looked like the biggest buffoon … like the Enterprise people would see me, in the parked car, in the garage, with the windshield wipers going on, off, delay, off, on, spray, off, on, delay, spray … and think: “Uhm … can this woman drive?”

— Finally, I wrestled the windshield wipers under my control and we were off.

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