A special comment
This trip was not our official baseball trip (that's later in the summer, in which we'll visit Idaho, Montana, and Washington), so Chad was involved in a lot of the planning and arranging.
I do give him points for getting a rental car which, total, cost $51.30. For four days! Brand-name (Alamo)!
However, a couple things popped up -- both in and out of his control -- which soured the trip, and may not have occurred were I in complete Type-A, obsessive-compulsive, near-autistic control of the trip.
First off: the Marlins tickets.
He told me that we had tickets at will-call which would've put us in a club section just rows from the field. But upon pick-up, he was told that, inexplicably, the tickets had been purchased and subsequently voided. While his card had been automatically refunded, apparently he didn't bother to check his account statements.
So we reached our seats, only to be approached by the section attendant to note that our seats were in different rows. In our specific area of the stadium, this meant Chad would have sat in the wheelchair row, and I would be in the row behind and overlooking him by a good eight feet. So we marched to Guest Services, where a nice elderly gentleman reran the tickets which put us back in the same row and section, only five seats down.
In most instances, I would request that the tickets be sent to me. And even if I did request leaving them at will-call, I check my financial statements way too often (read: daily) to not notice a credit on my account.
Now, for whatever reason, Chad is addicted to energy pills/drinks/B12 complements and the like. He insisted that we stop at a nearby WalMart for a pick-up. Several things were making this a bad idea: (1)The game ended around 10:30. (2)Our hotel was 30 miles from the stadium. (3)Our hotel was 30 miles from the airport. (Again, Chad's doing; apparently, he didn't learn my lesson from last year, when we woke up in St Louis and ultimately didn't fly out of Northwest Arkansas that evening.) So, either against my better judgment or just weakened from the day, we stopped at WalMart. But I wasn't happy about it.
Chad can attest to the wild return ride I gave him, with quick interstate-lane changes, high speeds -- though not high enough, as I was still getting passed -- and in the hotel parking lot and room, slammed doors, wallets, changes, etc.
I should note: Given my as-yet-undiagnosed non-affinity for touching -- nothing OCD germy, just not a fan (at this point) -- my anger response is more psychological than verbal or physical. However, *agonized sigh* I recognize that I put both Chad and myself in a dangerously heightened situation. (On the plus side: no alcohol involved.) But just in case, if Chad's wheelchair is found at the bottom of a set of steps, don't automatically blame me; it may have had it coming. Chad will still be asleep, so he'd be just fine.
I do give him points for getting a rental car which, total, cost $51.30. For four days! Brand-name (Alamo)!
However, a couple things popped up -- both in and out of his control -- which soured the trip, and may not have occurred were I in complete Type-A, obsessive-compulsive, near-autistic control of the trip.
First off: the Marlins tickets.
He told me that we had tickets at will-call which would've put us in a club section just rows from the field. But upon pick-up, he was told that, inexplicably, the tickets had been purchased and subsequently voided. While his card had been automatically refunded, apparently he didn't bother to check his account statements.
So we reached our seats, only to be approached by the section attendant to note that our seats were in different rows. In our specific area of the stadium, this meant Chad would have sat in the wheelchair row, and I would be in the row behind and overlooking him by a good eight feet. So we marched to Guest Services, where a nice elderly gentleman reran the tickets which put us back in the same row and section, only five seats down.
In most instances, I would request that the tickets be sent to me. And even if I did request leaving them at will-call, I check my financial statements way too often (read: daily) to not notice a credit on my account.
Now, for whatever reason, Chad is addicted to energy pills/drinks/B12 complements and the like. He insisted that we stop at a nearby WalMart for a pick-up. Several things were making this a bad idea: (1)The game ended around 10:30. (2)Our hotel was 30 miles from the stadium. (3)Our hotel was 30 miles from the airport. (Again, Chad's doing; apparently, he didn't learn my lesson from last year, when we woke up in St Louis and ultimately didn't fly out of Northwest Arkansas that evening.) So, either against my better judgment or just weakened from the day, we stopped at WalMart. But I wasn't happy about it.
Chad can attest to the wild return ride I gave him, with quick interstate-lane changes, high speeds -- though not high enough, as I was still getting passed -- and in the hotel parking lot and room, slammed doors, wallets, changes, etc.
I should note: Given my as-yet-undiagnosed non-affinity for touching -- nothing OCD germy, just not a fan (at this point) -- my anger response is more psychological than verbal or physical. However, *agonized sigh* I recognize that I put both Chad and myself in a dangerously heightened situation. (On the plus side: no alcohol involved.) But just in case, if Chad's wheelchair is found at the bottom of a set of steps, don't automatically blame me; it may have had it coming. Chad will still be asleep, so he'd be just fine.