This post has been brought to you by <blank> <blank> Washington National Airport where I picked up a rental car yesterday. I'm spending $29/day for a... Crown Vic. I had reserved a compact car and was expecting a Hyundai Elantra and I, obviously, got an upgrade that I darned near tried to give back because it's a boat.
The <blank> <blank> is because I will not mention that name foisted on us by Bob Barr of Georgia, which is completely contrary to the wishes of the man to whom it belonged. Besides which, it strikes me as a tad insensitive to name an airport after the man who broke the air traffic controllers union. Then again, Bob Barr. Need I say more?
So I'm walking over to counters where the rental cars are and I'm on the outside part, which is covered by an awning, for lack of a better word. It isn't as fluid as a sidewalk is, because there are walls on either side and there's only so far you can move out of someone's way. And, yes, you know what happened.
I was on the righthand side, walking along, and here comes a man with his suitcase, barrelling down the walkway on the lefthand side (that would be his lefthand side). He's very busy watching the sidewalk, looking up now and then. Fortunately for him, he looked up at the right time to avoid hitting me when I stopped walking and said, "You know, I'm allowed to use the sidewalk too." He just swerved around me and then right back to barrelling. Yeesh.
Then the rental car company had three people who were high maintenance, which left one person for the rest of us (I was 6th in line and it expanded behind me) and slow computers. Fortunately, they called a couple of people down to help and once they got rid of one high maintenance person, they started plowing through the rest of us. But fun things can happen when you're in line.
Like the man in front of me, with a groupon, who wanted to know if he really had to stand in line and was told that, yes, he really did. He was also wearing a PBR hat and he was from Texas. Once I got my car, it turned out he was in the car right in front of me in the garage and he had to turn on his bright lights despite the car not moving. Tons of fun. Plus he and the woman ahead of him had to fawn all over the good-looking guy in front of them. Now, when I say good-looking, I mean absolutely drop dead gorgeous. Most definitely drool-worthy. As long as you didn't look at his clothes.
Picture this: gorgeous, hot, lovely man wearing a light blue button-down shirt (losing points for the shades tucked down the front of it), navy blazer and khakis. Then I looked down. Yeah, khakis. Khaki shorts, no socks, and topsiders.
So the two people ahead of me are trying to figure out who this man is. PBR asks if he's a television anchor on that show and the jerk says, "What show?" PBR says that he's seen the guy before and they talk about where PBR from (how I found out he's from Texas) and the guy says he's been in Dallas/Fort Worth a couple times and maybe that's when PBR saw him. At that point, I'm rolling my eyes and I really want to tell them that if he was really "someone," he wouldn't be in the line with the rest of us. But Mr. Khaki Shorts is really enjoying getting one over on these two and all I wanted to do was smack him and telling to stop playing with the stupid people.
Hmmm... that makes me nearly as bad as he was.
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