California Part 8 (kind of)
NOTE! You should probably keep in mind that I'm writing these in Word then transferring to LiveJournal for the sake of time saving. None of the posts are final, including the ones written over a year ago.
Anyhow:
Part 8
Short Preface:
I've been thinking about this part of the journey for a long time now. I've tried picturing how I'd like to build up to it and how to exit it, because I have a fair idea of how I want the dialogue and feel of it to go.
Here's what I want you to take away from this one: People are assholes, but I can be too (kind of). And quite the opposite, there are some generally good natured people still out there.
Most of the time, being an asshole isn't on purpose. I used to think people were made assholes over time. Like, maybe they were trained to be an asshole or found some form of entitlement that made them think they can treat another human in such a way that makes the asshole feel above someone else.
I wish I could say I wasn't guilty of this. For a while I was the prime example of it. But now that I make a very conscious effort not to be that guy, I'm more aware of the fault that's at play when someone is an asshole. I know that most intelligent humans are capable of sympathy and empathy, but also, unfortunately, apathy. BUT, and thankfully there's a 'but', mostly we just want to get through our day. Sure, there are some who like going out and doing good tasks for the sake of making someone else happy, and of course there's the antithesis of that, but generally, we all want to blend into society and get home to our happy spaces and be okay with who we were that day and life in general.
On the other hand, there are people that go about their day in a constant ray of sunshine. Maybe it was the fates that decided who would live on in permanent happiness, or maybe they chose this outlook, but either way they do exist. I've seen it, and it amazes me. If I could only grasp 10% of what they have going for them I feel like I could be a better member of society. Maybe I'll get lucky and learn how to be one of these people, but I digress again.
I lead you all with that because the day I was in Phoenix (Wednesday March 14, 2012 to be exact) was a day I encountered an asshole I'll never forget. It wasn't necessarily that he stood out amongst assholes. In fact, he was a bit lighter than most here in Texas. It was that I observed how his attitude ruined everyone's day. Just the few sentences and mannerisms he displayed took all the energy and happiness out of the room. It was almost sickening.
But I also encountered one of the best people I've ever met. He radiated wholesome-ness and good nature. I could have just stood around him for a while and soaked in all of who he was.
So, without any more rambling, here is part 8.
________________________________________
The shuttle was awkward. It was no more than a Chevy Econo-Van crammed with college age students, probably commuting home for Spring Break. Quite similar to a plane ride, no one made eye contact, and despite being in one another's personal space, we all made no physical contact unless the gravitational pull from the van swaying around a corner forced us into tensed-arm bumps.
Once again, the landscape peeled back the green like a receding hairline and the burnt oranges and deep reds began filling our eyes with desert. I was lost in my own mind (trying to pretend that the girl next to me wasn't gorgeous) when we passed where my car had imploded.
Sure enough, there was a deep red stain left in the concrete where she had died. Bile tickled the back of my throat and anger tried to supersede the lingering thoughts of college girl, but my fore-brain wasn't having it; I was lost in the hopes that today would be a good day.
My stomach was already aching, but I had a GoreTech mug full of coffee for company, so I was a little content with life. Once, just passed the halfway point, college girl leaned over in a small panic and asked if I'd call her cell phone because she wasn't sure if she left it in her dorm. She hadn't. She politely thanked me and went back to pretending I didn't exist.
I knew she wasn't trying to be rude. If anything, she thought she was being polite by not forcing conversation in the all-too-silent bus, but it was beginning to wear on me. Her look and smell that is, not the silence. I wanted to chat her up, but thought about how weird it would make her feel, so I just kept silent and stared at the back of the passenger seat in front of me. I made up little scenarios in my head, as I usually do, about how we would run into one another in California or how when I came back through Flagstaff that some serendipitous encounter would spark some fun conversation then I wondered about how my teeth would look in the Arizona sun, then whether I need to schedule a dentist appointment, and so is the mind of the road weary.
Phoenix is hot. Not hot like Houston; Phoenix doesn't swelter. Phoenix is dry and permanently baking you, but you don't know it until it's too late. We arrived around 8 am and quickly filed out of the van to gather our respective belongings and head in our own directions. We were in a mall parking lot and in direct sunlight. Most of the kids had cars waiting for them, others walked to the bus stop that was a short walk away and awaited the appropriate ride to their next destinations. I didn't recognize where I was and felt a drop of panic hit the bottom of my empty stomach. I could almost hear the sound of a small pebble hitting the bottom of a well with the ensuing echo causing a painful burp to emit.
My phone, which was fully charged due to a diligent Dave (who took it upon himself to go buy a charger and hook up my phone while I slept), flicked to life as I pulled it from my pocket. I adjusted the brightness while walking to the awning in front of one of the many mall entrances. The shade wasn't much better, but gave enough comfort to ease my mind into finding the internet browser on my phone and searching a map to gain my bearings.
Well fuck, I thought, seeing that the shuttle had two stops in Phoenix, one at the mall, the other where I needed to go. Here we go again.
Another quick search found me a Chase bank adjacent to the mall and I started marching again. Without realizing it, I was on the phone with the Yellow Cab Company of Phoenix. I requested a pickup at the Chase bank in 15 minutes and plunged headlong into the cleanest bank I've ever seen. This place could have been a damn surgery room. The marble floors had perfect, OCD-like box patterns that were large enough to go unnoticed, but discolored enough to draw the attention of anyone trying to find it. The desks were aligned much like how one would picture a newsroom of yesteryear. All parallels and perpendiculars, with computers and keyboards methodically placed in redundant patterns. I almost expected the same clone to walk to the desks and begin to type in unison. After blinking back a few paused moments, I approached the desk and withdrew the necessary cash for the cab ride, plus a tip and some extra for food. Almost immediately I was accosted by the normalcy that Chase has to offer: over-eager credit card salesman. Normally these guys are easy to brush off, but I had about ten minutes to spare, and he had a funny accent.
"Hey there, bud! Do you know about our new opportunities with Chase Sapphire?" He stood like Superman, with his hands in fists on his hips and his feet shoulder width apart. I don't know if he intentionally puffed out his chest, or if that was just the way he stood, but it was comical and endearing all at once. His Chase Bank Blue shirt was only a soft background for the loud Chase emblem tie he was wearing. His smile was a bit infectious. I could completely understand why this was his job.
"I appreciate it, but I already have a credit card with you guys. And a business account, and two checking accounts. But I do like your accent. Where're you from?" I realized that I was going into self defense mode. My brother, Cody, likes to joke that I have Asperger's because when I get uneasy I have a tendency of saying whatever comes to mind without consideration of other's feelings.
"Oh," he chuckled and actually slapped his knee, "Minnesota! Is it that noticeable?" He visibly relaxed and seemed excited to be chatting casually. He was a few inches taller than me, and easily thirty pounds heavier. If I was guessing, he played baseball in Minnesota.
"Yeah, you don't hear that kind of accent out here. Why would you ever come to Phoenix? Isn't it the weather polar opposite of Minnesota, pun intended?"
He laughed again. I should not have liked this guy so much already, but dammit if he wasn't wholesome. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels before answering, "Oh, I didn't like school too much in Minnesota, and my brother started a job down here doing some kind of software stuff, so I followed him down and started school again."
I set the Backpack of Doom down and stretched my back. "At least you have a good idea of what you want to do."
"Yeah, I suppose it's a good path. What brings you here? You on spring break?" Once again, his earnest-y shined through.
"No, I’m having one of the longest vacations imaginable," I almost exhaled onto him. It felt good to just say that one sentence.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He sat down on a conveniently placed bench and inclined his head toward the bench, indicating for me to sit too.
I sat and unloaded on the guy. I told him every last drop of what happened. I explained the excitement of going to Scotland, to the chilis in New Mexico, to the car and walking across Flagstaff. I told him the desperation and the passion and the yelling and the hopelessness. When I finished I stood and shrugged hard, slumping my shoulders down for emphasis and half expecting to him to just walk off.
"Oh, bud, I'm so sorry to hear that." I almost chuckled at the way he said ‘sooorry’. "Do you need a ride to somewhere here in town? I could save you some money and drive you where you need to go. Or do you need me to lend you some cab fair?"
I was flabbergasted. This guy was dead serious. He had stood and reached back for his wallet, but paused waiting for my answer. I imagine that my face was pure shock, because after a few seconds of waiting for my response he pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the few bills in there before saying, "It really isn't a problem. I'm sure you'll need it more than I do."
I couldn't move. I tried finding the words, but this was something I wasn't used to. People aren't like this. People are dicks. Is he joking? He’s joking. No, he has money out. It was everything in me to muster, "I..uh..I really appreciate it, but I've got it handled." I tried putting on my bravest face, but he could see right through it.
"Look bud, everyone has hard times. I've been there." He smiled a sympathetic smile. It was heartwarming and painful simultaneously. I knew that, under the opposite circumstance, that I would assume this kid was some homeless punk trying to scam a few bucks. My mind raced with the possibilities of the shoe being on the other foot, and it couldn't comprehend any situation where I would be of any more assistance than placing a phone call.
An ass-hat of epic proportions. You wouldn't care. You tool.
I was beginning to feel awkward. I was not accustomed to people being this generous and I could feel blood rushing to my face. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulders, but I didn't break eye contact. I was trying to judge how to react to all of this.
Thankfully, the cab driver decided that was his cue to make an entrance and loudly exclaimed from the front door of the bank, "Anyone here named," he paused to look at a piece of paper, "Casey Wilcox?"
I jerked in his direction, partially in fright from the suddenness of the voice, and partly because I needed to be jerked away from the situation at hand. "Yeah, that's me. Give me two seconds and I'll be outside." He nodded and retreated back to the cab while I turned on the salesman and found my mental ground again. "No, man, I really appre-what's this?"
In the few seconds it took for me to turn my head and respond to the cab driver, the salesman had produced a Dr Pepper from seemingly nowhere. He handed it to me and said, "If you won't accept the money, at least accept a cold drink. It's hot out there." He smiled as I took the can and looked it over like it was my first Christmas present.
I did the only thing I could have thought to do. I looked him in the eye, gave him the most gracious look I could make, and extended my hand. "I'm Casey Wilcox from Houston, if you were wondering."
He smiled back and gave me a firm handshake, introduced himself, then backed up a few steps as to signal that I could go.
Side note:
For the life of me, I cannot remember his name. It haunts me. But if this somehow gets published, and that salesman is reading this, please know that what you did is one of the greatest gestures anyone has ever done for me. You made me believe in humanity so much that day. Every time I see something bad in this world, I think of you and that day, and I believe again that people like you will continue to exist.
I don’t even remember walking to the cab, but the next thing I knew we were heading to the rental car shop. The cab driver was a former military man in his mid-forties who was complaining about past and present wars and how the mindset of soldiers in his day was much stronger than the minds of present soldiers, but that present soldiers have to endure things he’d never imagined would happen. He kept glancing at me in the rear-view mirror, making my nerves stand on end. I understood fully that his profession was to transport people for a living, but the idea that his eyes weren't on the road kept making me lose focus on what he was saying and more-so on where he was going. The ride was only five or so minutes, but it felt like forever.
What was more exciting was the sight of the Enterprise and the Taco Bell next door. My mouth watered and the thought of once again being on the beach quickly filled my ears with a hum and drowned out the cab driver. I paid, with a heavy tip, and walked inside briskly. The heat wasn't noticeable until I was inside the office.
Enterprise was my go-to for rental cars. The service, albeit minimum wage, was almost always professional and the offices were neat and organized. I was immediately greeted by a gentleman my age in a white shirt and green tie.
"Hello sir, and welcome to Enterprise. Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes sir, it's under Wilcox," I said as I approached the desk and placed my ID on the counter. He set to typing away at the computer while I glanced around. In front of the desk, eight chairs lined a glass window, two separated from the others by the door I entered through. Along one of the perpendicular walls, a water cooler and two other chairs sat. The opposite wall had three chairs, two filled with women in their mid-forties. A man, who could have easily been the husband or brother to one of the women, paced impatiently in a short circle while talking lowly on his cell phone. I could see two kids standing outside in the small shade cast from the building playing on their handheld gaming devices. The women seemed perturbed and were looking off in opposite directions.
"Okay, Mr. Wilcox. Unfortunately, we have a shortage in the city because of spring break and the baseball training season. We may or may not have the car you requested, but there won't be an up-charge for your troubles, and the wait can be a while. Do you want to book a hotel and let us pay a portion of the bill? That way, we can guarantee you a vehicle by tomorrow morning, or do you want to chance it and try to get something today?"
Come the fuck on, my brain chimed in. My face clearly conveyed the same message, as the attendant's face looked like he was about to catch his fiftieth ass chewing of the day. I sighed and answered, "I'll try and chance it. If it gets too late, I'll take the hotel route."
A little relieved, the attendant handed me back my ID and gestured toward a chair with his hand. “Take a seat and we’ll let you know when we have something available.”
I sat and began taking in the surroundings. There appeared to be only three attendants working that day, and all of them seemed pressed. I'd seen this look before on hourly associates who knew that upper management was coming in any second, but this was different. When they weren't dealing directly with customers, they were on the phone urging strongly that they needed vehicles immediately. It appeared they were calling every Enterprise within reasonable distance and trying to make something work, but to no avail. I watched as they would hang up and give one another more and more distressed looks that became more hopeless after every phone call.
The man on his cell phone hung up and approached the attendant that helped me. "Marlon, right? Look Marlon, I booked this car and was told it would be ready at 10:30 this morning. It's almost noon. I needed to be in L.A. by 3, and it takes almost six hours to drive there. What do I have to do to get a car now?"
Marlon looked defeated. His shoulders slumped and a look of exhaustion wiped over him. I guessed this wasn't the first time the man had asked the same question. "Sir, as I explained, we have a shortage all over the city. For whatever reason, our website assured several customers that we had a plethora of cars on the lot when in reality we had five when we opened this morning. I'm sure we'll have something today, but I'm not sure when it will be.” His face and tone were that of someone who had been scolded for the same thing over weeks, not just that morning. His co-workers stopped dialing and walking about to watch the encounter, presumably to expect the worse.
The man pushed away from the counter in frustration and repeated what Marlon said to the women sitting down, not five feet from the counter. Does he know he's just being an ass? He has to. Marlon and his co-workers piled into a corner that was a little too close to my hearing range.
"Maybe if the guy showed up at 10:30 and not 11:15, his car would still be here," one of the workers said. She was young, probably just inside of twenty, with perfectly loud orange colored nails and eye shadow to match.
"Whatever, just be polite. Don't get Betty called on us," Marlon urged.
"I know, but this is bullshit. What does he want us to do?" She was getting angry. She had gone from frustrated to that realm in one's mind where frustration quickly becomes a tirade.
"I don't know. Don't lose your cool. If he gets angry, I'll handle it."
Marlon, you are one professional son of a bitch. And for the first time that day, I agreed with my brain.
Every fifteen minutes for the next hour the man would perform the same routine. He'd pace for a while on his cell phone, and then he'd ask the same question to the same response. His anger was increasing ever-so-slightly with every attempt, so much that he was beginning to solicit responses from the women he was with.
A woman in her mid-thirties walked in with her son of about ten. She made the same move for the desk I did, was met with the same response, and then sat next to me. She promptly buried herself on her phone while her son sat and stared out the window.
Then it happened. It happened all at once, and seemed like a blur. The gentleman went to the desk, asked his questions, and was met with the same responses, but this time he reacted differently.
"You know what? This is bullshit. Who do I need to speak to in order to get a vehicle immediately?"
Marlon had his eyes closed. It was visible that it was everything in him not to lash out. He took a deep breath and responded cooly, "Sir, I am the manager here, and I assure you-"
"Then who is your boss? I need to be in L.A. now. We were supposed to be long and gone from this place hours ago, and I'm sitting here listening to you feed me the same bullshit over and over about a shortage."
I could feel the woman next to me tense up. She and her son were wide-eyed at what was happening. One of the women accompanying the man seemed put-off while the other had her eyes squinted and seemed to be enjoying what was happening. Bet you anything the uncomfortable one is the wife and the content one is the sister. I ‘humphed’ to myself at that thought.
The co-workers had gathered behind Marlon to watch. Not close enough to be involved, mind you, but close enough to not miss anything. Marlon took another deep breath and began again, "Sir, I know the inconvenience is great. Believe me, it brings me no pleasure to not bring in any money to put you out, but this is out of my hands. If I had even one vehicle on the lot, you'd have been in it. Presently, the only car I have to offer is my own, but I guarantee you it wouldn't make it across Phoenix, much less to the coast." He tried to smile, but it came off as sarcasm. I could see it, and unfortunately so could the angry gentleman, but Marlon was clueless.
"This is bullshit. I want your boss right now-"
I had moved. I don't even remember moving, I just remember my patience reaching a maximum and I reacted.
"Yeah, alright," I said in a low voice, almost directly to the right side of the man's face. I had stood quickly.
His head came around quickly, looling for anywhere to spray his anger. "Excuse me?!" he said, mostly in disgust, but also with a twinge of surprise.
"I said, that's enough. You're embarrassing yourself. This isn't Marlon's fault." I nodded toward Marlon, who was very visibly uncomfortable. His hands were frozen over the keyboard of his computer and his eyes were darting between us.
I looked back toward the woman and her son who were sitting next to me and nodded toward them before beginning again, "I'm certain she has somewhere to be, and I know I'd rather be drinking a beer on my vacation, but things happened. Someone got here before all of us and now we're all stuck. Stop yelling. I'm sure the next car along will be for you."
I was certain he was going to hit me. I could see the muscles in his arm tensing as he curled his fingers into a fist. His mouth contorted and his nostrils flared like he smelled baby shit for the first time. He turned his body to face me full on. I stepped back on my right foot anticipating a swing. I heard the woman I was sitting next to shift and watched one of the women half rise in her chair, then stop.
The man took a sharp and audible inhale, then seemed to deflate altogether. "Oh, fuck off," he said without much conviction. He waved a hand at me like he was waving off a mall vendor, then walked outside casually. One of the women stood and followed him, the one my brain guessed was his wife, while the other glared at me.
I stood frozen, my gaze directed at the seam where the door he left through met the floor to the waiting room. My mind was riddled with adrenaline and my thoughts couldn't seem to catch up. I had barely noticed that I stood, much less what had happened in those few seconds. My back muscles ached from the tension they were just under, and my hand was having the hardest time unclenching from the second fist that had been made in the room. He could have hit you, dude. He would have hit you and you would have taken it. You can't fight. He would have wrecked you.
A hand on my shoulder caught me by complete surprise and I jumped with a, "JEEZ-us fuckin- oh, sorry." I have no idea how long I was standing there staring at the door.
The mother that had been sitting next to me let out a nervous laugh you'd expect an 8th grade boy to have around his crush before saying, "Thank you." She didn't give me a chance to respond (I don’t know if I could have just yet) before she turned to Marlon and said, "I think we're going to take the hotel option, if that's still available." She turned back to me and whispered, "No one needs this," she shifted her eyes to the corner of their sockets, indicating the offending man and his company, "especially on a day this hot."
I exhaled sharply through my nostrils in the best laugh I could, but quickly took my seat again and tried to not make eye contact with the woman still staring daggers through my head. I could feel the heat rising in my face again. The hairs on my neck and arms stood on end and I realized how embarrassed I was. I had just made an unnecessary scene. That man probably would have vented and forgotten over and over again, but would have never been in this Enterprise ever again. Marlon and his co-workers would have gone on talking about him like some normal pain-in-the-ass customer and would have long forgotten him in a month, but I had caused a situation that would be a story.
Now the man would have another reason to complain to his friends and family back in L.A. He would forever tell the tale of the asshole kid and the bullshit situation he had to deal with in Phoenix.
God dammit. What the fuck is wrong with people? What the fuck were you thinking? Hell, I wasn't sure. I had just moved.
"Sir?"
I flinched to my left. A voice in my right ear caught me off guard again. I had been staring off long enough to not notice the mother and her son leave. The man and woman had re-entered and sat quietly opposite me with their arms folded tightly across their chests. Marlon was hunched over, a few inches from my ear and repeated again, "Sir? Would you come with me for a second?" When I stood abruptly, he said, "Bring your belongings, please."
Well shit. Now he's going to seat you in his office like you need to be protected. You know, if you didn't look like you were 15, this wouldn't happen. I almost mumbled, "Shut up," but managed to catch myself. The last thing I needed was for Marlon to think I was talking to him.
We walked behind the counter and around a corner to the back of the building and door that led outside. Marlon stopped and turned on me. "Sir, you didn't need to do that. We had the situation under control."
I felt ridiculous. I knew my behavior wasn't needed; I didn't need to be reminded by someone younger than me. "I know," I said sheepishly, running my hand through my hair, "It just kind of happened. Do you want me to get the hotel and I'll come back tomorrow?"
Marlon almost looked amused. "Not at all," he said, producing a clipboard. "I need you to sign here."
I looked down at the clipboard to find a short-order contract for a vehicle. I was lost. I looked up at Marlon and managed, "Huh?"
He smiled. "Sir, we had a truck just pull in. If you want it, it's yours. Like I promised, we aren't going to charge you extra; you'll pay the same amount you were supposed to for a compact car, just be sure you bring it back in three days, like you intended."
"Are you serious? Why don't you give it to that guy and get him out of here?"
He got a devilish squint in his eye, and still smiling said, "Because fuck that guy. Finish your vacation and let him get the hotel."
Anyhow:
Part 8
Short Preface:
I've been thinking about this part of the journey for a long time now. I've tried picturing how I'd like to build up to it and how to exit it, because I have a fair idea of how I want the dialogue and feel of it to go.
Here's what I want you to take away from this one: People are assholes, but I can be too (kind of). And quite the opposite, there are some generally good natured people still out there.
Most of the time, being an asshole isn't on purpose. I used to think people were made assholes over time. Like, maybe they were trained to be an asshole or found some form of entitlement that made them think they can treat another human in such a way that makes the asshole feel above someone else.
I wish I could say I wasn't guilty of this. For a while I was the prime example of it. But now that I make a very conscious effort not to be that guy, I'm more aware of the fault that's at play when someone is an asshole. I know that most intelligent humans are capable of sympathy and empathy, but also, unfortunately, apathy. BUT, and thankfully there's a 'but', mostly we just want to get through our day. Sure, there are some who like going out and doing good tasks for the sake of making someone else happy, and of course there's the antithesis of that, but generally, we all want to blend into society and get home to our happy spaces and be okay with who we were that day and life in general.
On the other hand, there are people that go about their day in a constant ray of sunshine. Maybe it was the fates that decided who would live on in permanent happiness, or maybe they chose this outlook, but either way they do exist. I've seen it, and it amazes me. If I could only grasp 10% of what they have going for them I feel like I could be a better member of society. Maybe I'll get lucky and learn how to be one of these people, but I digress again.
I lead you all with that because the day I was in Phoenix (Wednesday March 14, 2012 to be exact) was a day I encountered an asshole I'll never forget. It wasn't necessarily that he stood out amongst assholes. In fact, he was a bit lighter than most here in Texas. It was that I observed how his attitude ruined everyone's day. Just the few sentences and mannerisms he displayed took all the energy and happiness out of the room. It was almost sickening.
But I also encountered one of the best people I've ever met. He radiated wholesome-ness and good nature. I could have just stood around him for a while and soaked in all of who he was.
So, without any more rambling, here is part 8.
________________________________________
The shuttle was awkward. It was no more than a Chevy Econo-Van crammed with college age students, probably commuting home for Spring Break. Quite similar to a plane ride, no one made eye contact, and despite being in one another's personal space, we all made no physical contact unless the gravitational pull from the van swaying around a corner forced us into tensed-arm bumps.
Once again, the landscape peeled back the green like a receding hairline and the burnt oranges and deep reds began filling our eyes with desert. I was lost in my own mind (trying to pretend that the girl next to me wasn't gorgeous) when we passed where my car had imploded.
Sure enough, there was a deep red stain left in the concrete where she had died. Bile tickled the back of my throat and anger tried to supersede the lingering thoughts of college girl, but my fore-brain wasn't having it; I was lost in the hopes that today would be a good day.
My stomach was already aching, but I had a GoreTech mug full of coffee for company, so I was a little content with life. Once, just passed the halfway point, college girl leaned over in a small panic and asked if I'd call her cell phone because she wasn't sure if she left it in her dorm. She hadn't. She politely thanked me and went back to pretending I didn't exist.
I knew she wasn't trying to be rude. If anything, she thought she was being polite by not forcing conversation in the all-too-silent bus, but it was beginning to wear on me. Her look and smell that is, not the silence. I wanted to chat her up, but thought about how weird it would make her feel, so I just kept silent and stared at the back of the passenger seat in front of me. I made up little scenarios in my head, as I usually do, about how we would run into one another in California or how when I came back through Flagstaff that some serendipitous encounter would spark some fun conversation then I wondered about how my teeth would look in the Arizona sun, then whether I need to schedule a dentist appointment, and so is the mind of the road weary.
Phoenix is hot. Not hot like Houston; Phoenix doesn't swelter. Phoenix is dry and permanently baking you, but you don't know it until it's too late. We arrived around 8 am and quickly filed out of the van to gather our respective belongings and head in our own directions. We were in a mall parking lot and in direct sunlight. Most of the kids had cars waiting for them, others walked to the bus stop that was a short walk away and awaited the appropriate ride to their next destinations. I didn't recognize where I was and felt a drop of panic hit the bottom of my empty stomach. I could almost hear the sound of a small pebble hitting the bottom of a well with the ensuing echo causing a painful burp to emit.
My phone, which was fully charged due to a diligent Dave (who took it upon himself to go buy a charger and hook up my phone while I slept), flicked to life as I pulled it from my pocket. I adjusted the brightness while walking to the awning in front of one of the many mall entrances. The shade wasn't much better, but gave enough comfort to ease my mind into finding the internet browser on my phone and searching a map to gain my bearings.
Well fuck, I thought, seeing that the shuttle had two stops in Phoenix, one at the mall, the other where I needed to go. Here we go again.
Another quick search found me a Chase bank adjacent to the mall and I started marching again. Without realizing it, I was on the phone with the Yellow Cab Company of Phoenix. I requested a pickup at the Chase bank in 15 minutes and plunged headlong into the cleanest bank I've ever seen. This place could have been a damn surgery room. The marble floors had perfect, OCD-like box patterns that were large enough to go unnoticed, but discolored enough to draw the attention of anyone trying to find it. The desks were aligned much like how one would picture a newsroom of yesteryear. All parallels and perpendiculars, with computers and keyboards methodically placed in redundant patterns. I almost expected the same clone to walk to the desks and begin to type in unison. After blinking back a few paused moments, I approached the desk and withdrew the necessary cash for the cab ride, plus a tip and some extra for food. Almost immediately I was accosted by the normalcy that Chase has to offer: over-eager credit card salesman. Normally these guys are easy to brush off, but I had about ten minutes to spare, and he had a funny accent.
"Hey there, bud! Do you know about our new opportunities with Chase Sapphire?" He stood like Superman, with his hands in fists on his hips and his feet shoulder width apart. I don't know if he intentionally puffed out his chest, or if that was just the way he stood, but it was comical and endearing all at once. His Chase Bank Blue shirt was only a soft background for the loud Chase emblem tie he was wearing. His smile was a bit infectious. I could completely understand why this was his job.
"I appreciate it, but I already have a credit card with you guys. And a business account, and two checking accounts. But I do like your accent. Where're you from?" I realized that I was going into self defense mode. My brother, Cody, likes to joke that I have Asperger's because when I get uneasy I have a tendency of saying whatever comes to mind without consideration of other's feelings.
"Oh," he chuckled and actually slapped his knee, "Minnesota! Is it that noticeable?" He visibly relaxed and seemed excited to be chatting casually. He was a few inches taller than me, and easily thirty pounds heavier. If I was guessing, he played baseball in Minnesota.
"Yeah, you don't hear that kind of accent out here. Why would you ever come to Phoenix? Isn't it the weather polar opposite of Minnesota, pun intended?"
He laughed again. I should not have liked this guy so much already, but dammit if he wasn't wholesome. He put his hands in his pockets and leaned back on his heels before answering, "Oh, I didn't like school too much in Minnesota, and my brother started a job down here doing some kind of software stuff, so I followed him down and started school again."
I set the Backpack of Doom down and stretched my back. "At least you have a good idea of what you want to do."
"Yeah, I suppose it's a good path. What brings you here? You on spring break?" Once again, his earnest-y shined through.
"No, I’m having one of the longest vacations imaginable," I almost exhaled onto him. It felt good to just say that one sentence.
"Do you want to talk about it?" He sat down on a conveniently placed bench and inclined his head toward the bench, indicating for me to sit too.
I sat and unloaded on the guy. I told him every last drop of what happened. I explained the excitement of going to Scotland, to the chilis in New Mexico, to the car and walking across Flagstaff. I told him the desperation and the passion and the yelling and the hopelessness. When I finished I stood and shrugged hard, slumping my shoulders down for emphasis and half expecting to him to just walk off.
"Oh, bud, I'm so sorry to hear that." I almost chuckled at the way he said ‘sooorry’. "Do you need a ride to somewhere here in town? I could save you some money and drive you where you need to go. Or do you need me to lend you some cab fair?"
I was flabbergasted. This guy was dead serious. He had stood and reached back for his wallet, but paused waiting for my answer. I imagine that my face was pure shock, because after a few seconds of waiting for my response he pulled out his wallet and thumbed through the few bills in there before saying, "It really isn't a problem. I'm sure you'll need it more than I do."
I couldn't move. I tried finding the words, but this was something I wasn't used to. People aren't like this. People are dicks. Is he joking? He’s joking. No, he has money out. It was everything in me to muster, "I..uh..I really appreciate it, but I've got it handled." I tried putting on my bravest face, but he could see right through it.
"Look bud, everyone has hard times. I've been there." He smiled a sympathetic smile. It was heartwarming and painful simultaneously. I knew that, under the opposite circumstance, that I would assume this kid was some homeless punk trying to scam a few bucks. My mind raced with the possibilities of the shoe being on the other foot, and it couldn't comprehend any situation where I would be of any more assistance than placing a phone call.
An ass-hat of epic proportions. You wouldn't care. You tool.
I was beginning to feel awkward. I was not accustomed to people being this generous and I could feel blood rushing to my face. I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulders, but I didn't break eye contact. I was trying to judge how to react to all of this.
Thankfully, the cab driver decided that was his cue to make an entrance and loudly exclaimed from the front door of the bank, "Anyone here named," he paused to look at a piece of paper, "Casey Wilcox?"
I jerked in his direction, partially in fright from the suddenness of the voice, and partly because I needed to be jerked away from the situation at hand. "Yeah, that's me. Give me two seconds and I'll be outside." He nodded and retreated back to the cab while I turned on the salesman and found my mental ground again. "No, man, I really appre-what's this?"
In the few seconds it took for me to turn my head and respond to the cab driver, the salesman had produced a Dr Pepper from seemingly nowhere. He handed it to me and said, "If you won't accept the money, at least accept a cold drink. It's hot out there." He smiled as I took the can and looked it over like it was my first Christmas present.
I did the only thing I could have thought to do. I looked him in the eye, gave him the most gracious look I could make, and extended my hand. "I'm Casey Wilcox from Houston, if you were wondering."
He smiled back and gave me a firm handshake, introduced himself, then backed up a few steps as to signal that I could go.
Side note:
For the life of me, I cannot remember his name. It haunts me. But if this somehow gets published, and that salesman is reading this, please know that what you did is one of the greatest gestures anyone has ever done for me. You made me believe in humanity so much that day. Every time I see something bad in this world, I think of you and that day, and I believe again that people like you will continue to exist.
I don’t even remember walking to the cab, but the next thing I knew we were heading to the rental car shop. The cab driver was a former military man in his mid-forties who was complaining about past and present wars and how the mindset of soldiers in his day was much stronger than the minds of present soldiers, but that present soldiers have to endure things he’d never imagined would happen. He kept glancing at me in the rear-view mirror, making my nerves stand on end. I understood fully that his profession was to transport people for a living, but the idea that his eyes weren't on the road kept making me lose focus on what he was saying and more-so on where he was going. The ride was only five or so minutes, but it felt like forever.
What was more exciting was the sight of the Enterprise and the Taco Bell next door. My mouth watered and the thought of once again being on the beach quickly filled my ears with a hum and drowned out the cab driver. I paid, with a heavy tip, and walked inside briskly. The heat wasn't noticeable until I was inside the office.
Enterprise was my go-to for rental cars. The service, albeit minimum wage, was almost always professional and the offices were neat and organized. I was immediately greeted by a gentleman my age in a white shirt and green tie.
"Hello sir, and welcome to Enterprise. Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes sir, it's under Wilcox," I said as I approached the desk and placed my ID on the counter. He set to typing away at the computer while I glanced around. In front of the desk, eight chairs lined a glass window, two separated from the others by the door I entered through. Along one of the perpendicular walls, a water cooler and two other chairs sat. The opposite wall had three chairs, two filled with women in their mid-forties. A man, who could have easily been the husband or brother to one of the women, paced impatiently in a short circle while talking lowly on his cell phone. I could see two kids standing outside in the small shade cast from the building playing on their handheld gaming devices. The women seemed perturbed and were looking off in opposite directions.
"Okay, Mr. Wilcox. Unfortunately, we have a shortage in the city because of spring break and the baseball training season. We may or may not have the car you requested, but there won't be an up-charge for your troubles, and the wait can be a while. Do you want to book a hotel and let us pay a portion of the bill? That way, we can guarantee you a vehicle by tomorrow morning, or do you want to chance it and try to get something today?"
Come the fuck on, my brain chimed in. My face clearly conveyed the same message, as the attendant's face looked like he was about to catch his fiftieth ass chewing of the day. I sighed and answered, "I'll try and chance it. If it gets too late, I'll take the hotel route."
A little relieved, the attendant handed me back my ID and gestured toward a chair with his hand. “Take a seat and we’ll let you know when we have something available.”
I sat and began taking in the surroundings. There appeared to be only three attendants working that day, and all of them seemed pressed. I'd seen this look before on hourly associates who knew that upper management was coming in any second, but this was different. When they weren't dealing directly with customers, they were on the phone urging strongly that they needed vehicles immediately. It appeared they were calling every Enterprise within reasonable distance and trying to make something work, but to no avail. I watched as they would hang up and give one another more and more distressed looks that became more hopeless after every phone call.
The man on his cell phone hung up and approached the attendant that helped me. "Marlon, right? Look Marlon, I booked this car and was told it would be ready at 10:30 this morning. It's almost noon. I needed to be in L.A. by 3, and it takes almost six hours to drive there. What do I have to do to get a car now?"
Marlon looked defeated. His shoulders slumped and a look of exhaustion wiped over him. I guessed this wasn't the first time the man had asked the same question. "Sir, as I explained, we have a shortage all over the city. For whatever reason, our website assured several customers that we had a plethora of cars on the lot when in reality we had five when we opened this morning. I'm sure we'll have something today, but I'm not sure when it will be.” His face and tone were that of someone who had been scolded for the same thing over weeks, not just that morning. His co-workers stopped dialing and walking about to watch the encounter, presumably to expect the worse.
The man pushed away from the counter in frustration and repeated what Marlon said to the women sitting down, not five feet from the counter. Does he know he's just being an ass? He has to. Marlon and his co-workers piled into a corner that was a little too close to my hearing range.
"Maybe if the guy showed up at 10:30 and not 11:15, his car would still be here," one of the workers said. She was young, probably just inside of twenty, with perfectly loud orange colored nails and eye shadow to match.
"Whatever, just be polite. Don't get Betty called on us," Marlon urged.
"I know, but this is bullshit. What does he want us to do?" She was getting angry. She had gone from frustrated to that realm in one's mind where frustration quickly becomes a tirade.
"I don't know. Don't lose your cool. If he gets angry, I'll handle it."
Marlon, you are one professional son of a bitch. And for the first time that day, I agreed with my brain.
Every fifteen minutes for the next hour the man would perform the same routine. He'd pace for a while on his cell phone, and then he'd ask the same question to the same response. His anger was increasing ever-so-slightly with every attempt, so much that he was beginning to solicit responses from the women he was with.
A woman in her mid-thirties walked in with her son of about ten. She made the same move for the desk I did, was met with the same response, and then sat next to me. She promptly buried herself on her phone while her son sat and stared out the window.
Then it happened. It happened all at once, and seemed like a blur. The gentleman went to the desk, asked his questions, and was met with the same responses, but this time he reacted differently.
"You know what? This is bullshit. Who do I need to speak to in order to get a vehicle immediately?"
Marlon had his eyes closed. It was visible that it was everything in him not to lash out. He took a deep breath and responded cooly, "Sir, I am the manager here, and I assure you-"
"Then who is your boss? I need to be in L.A. now. We were supposed to be long and gone from this place hours ago, and I'm sitting here listening to you feed me the same bullshit over and over about a shortage."
I could feel the woman next to me tense up. She and her son were wide-eyed at what was happening. One of the women accompanying the man seemed put-off while the other had her eyes squinted and seemed to be enjoying what was happening. Bet you anything the uncomfortable one is the wife and the content one is the sister. I ‘humphed’ to myself at that thought.
The co-workers had gathered behind Marlon to watch. Not close enough to be involved, mind you, but close enough to not miss anything. Marlon took another deep breath and began again, "Sir, I know the inconvenience is great. Believe me, it brings me no pleasure to not bring in any money to put you out, but this is out of my hands. If I had even one vehicle on the lot, you'd have been in it. Presently, the only car I have to offer is my own, but I guarantee you it wouldn't make it across Phoenix, much less to the coast." He tried to smile, but it came off as sarcasm. I could see it, and unfortunately so could the angry gentleman, but Marlon was clueless.
"This is bullshit. I want your boss right now-"
I had moved. I don't even remember moving, I just remember my patience reaching a maximum and I reacted.
"Yeah, alright," I said in a low voice, almost directly to the right side of the man's face. I had stood quickly.
His head came around quickly, looling for anywhere to spray his anger. "Excuse me?!" he said, mostly in disgust, but also with a twinge of surprise.
"I said, that's enough. You're embarrassing yourself. This isn't Marlon's fault." I nodded toward Marlon, who was very visibly uncomfortable. His hands were frozen over the keyboard of his computer and his eyes were darting between us.
I looked back toward the woman and her son who were sitting next to me and nodded toward them before beginning again, "I'm certain she has somewhere to be, and I know I'd rather be drinking a beer on my vacation, but things happened. Someone got here before all of us and now we're all stuck. Stop yelling. I'm sure the next car along will be for you."
I was certain he was going to hit me. I could see the muscles in his arm tensing as he curled his fingers into a fist. His mouth contorted and his nostrils flared like he smelled baby shit for the first time. He turned his body to face me full on. I stepped back on my right foot anticipating a swing. I heard the woman I was sitting next to shift and watched one of the women half rise in her chair, then stop.
The man took a sharp and audible inhale, then seemed to deflate altogether. "Oh, fuck off," he said without much conviction. He waved a hand at me like he was waving off a mall vendor, then walked outside casually. One of the women stood and followed him, the one my brain guessed was his wife, while the other glared at me.
I stood frozen, my gaze directed at the seam where the door he left through met the floor to the waiting room. My mind was riddled with adrenaline and my thoughts couldn't seem to catch up. I had barely noticed that I stood, much less what had happened in those few seconds. My back muscles ached from the tension they were just under, and my hand was having the hardest time unclenching from the second fist that had been made in the room. He could have hit you, dude. He would have hit you and you would have taken it. You can't fight. He would have wrecked you.
A hand on my shoulder caught me by complete surprise and I jumped with a, "JEEZ-us fuckin- oh, sorry." I have no idea how long I was standing there staring at the door.
The mother that had been sitting next to me let out a nervous laugh you'd expect an 8th grade boy to have around his crush before saying, "Thank you." She didn't give me a chance to respond (I don’t know if I could have just yet) before she turned to Marlon and said, "I think we're going to take the hotel option, if that's still available." She turned back to me and whispered, "No one needs this," she shifted her eyes to the corner of their sockets, indicating the offending man and his company, "especially on a day this hot."
I exhaled sharply through my nostrils in the best laugh I could, but quickly took my seat again and tried to not make eye contact with the woman still staring daggers through my head. I could feel the heat rising in my face again. The hairs on my neck and arms stood on end and I realized how embarrassed I was. I had just made an unnecessary scene. That man probably would have vented and forgotten over and over again, but would have never been in this Enterprise ever again. Marlon and his co-workers would have gone on talking about him like some normal pain-in-the-ass customer and would have long forgotten him in a month, but I had caused a situation that would be a story.
Now the man would have another reason to complain to his friends and family back in L.A. He would forever tell the tale of the asshole kid and the bullshit situation he had to deal with in Phoenix.
God dammit. What the fuck is wrong with people? What the fuck were you thinking? Hell, I wasn't sure. I had just moved.
"Sir?"
I flinched to my left. A voice in my right ear caught me off guard again. I had been staring off long enough to not notice the mother and her son leave. The man and woman had re-entered and sat quietly opposite me with their arms folded tightly across their chests. Marlon was hunched over, a few inches from my ear and repeated again, "Sir? Would you come with me for a second?" When I stood abruptly, he said, "Bring your belongings, please."
Well shit. Now he's going to seat you in his office like you need to be protected. You know, if you didn't look like you were 15, this wouldn't happen. I almost mumbled, "Shut up," but managed to catch myself. The last thing I needed was for Marlon to think I was talking to him.
We walked behind the counter and around a corner to the back of the building and door that led outside. Marlon stopped and turned on me. "Sir, you didn't need to do that. We had the situation under control."
I felt ridiculous. I knew my behavior wasn't needed; I didn't need to be reminded by someone younger than me. "I know," I said sheepishly, running my hand through my hair, "It just kind of happened. Do you want me to get the hotel and I'll come back tomorrow?"
Marlon almost looked amused. "Not at all," he said, producing a clipboard. "I need you to sign here."
I looked down at the clipboard to find a short-order contract for a vehicle. I was lost. I looked up at Marlon and managed, "Huh?"
He smiled. "Sir, we had a truck just pull in. If you want it, it's yours. Like I promised, we aren't going to charge you extra; you'll pay the same amount you were supposed to for a compact car, just be sure you bring it back in three days, like you intended."
"Are you serious? Why don't you give it to that guy and get him out of here?"
He got a devilish squint in his eye, and still smiling said, "Because fuck that guy. Finish your vacation and let him get the hotel."