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What Color Car Would You Like?
a true story
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What Color Car Would You Like?
a true story
By Bernard S. Sadowski
Perhaps as a vacationing couple fresh off the airplane in Maui, we looked really old to the person behind the Budget Car Rental counter at the Kahalui Airport. Maybe he looked at my wife and I and decided we were illiterate. Or, and this is my conjecture, the fellow had been on duty for TOO many hours and his Pavlovian response system simply dominated .
As our turn in line brought us face-to-face with the next available agent, he looked at us with a bland expression and asked automatically, “What can I do for you?”
I replied with a level voice, “ We’re the Sadowski’s and we reserved a car.”
“Oh, yes, sure, let me check.” The agent started to shuffle many sheets of important-looking documents. Many were typed, some only partially completed, a few were badly mistreated with bent and folded corners. “Here it is!” he exclaimed almost as if he discovered King Kamehameha’s lost throne, as he thrust the sheets on the counter, using his large hands to rub out the tiny wrinkles.
“Excellent,” I said , trying to sound a bit congratulatory. A weak smile played across my wife, Rita’s face. She was pressed tightly against me, watching and listening the youthful agent conduct his business. The crowd was anxious and pushing others in line which caused a slinky-like affect. From certain angles the human conga line resembled a millipede in motion. It forced us closer than expected to the counter.
The agent brushed back his hair with a swift hand motion while grabbing for a pen with his other. The man was definitely in need of a break because as he looked back up at Rita and I, he spoke with a lift in is voice, “What color car would you like?”
I countered his question with a question, “What colors do you have available?
To which the agent answered, straight-faced, “We have red or white cars.”
I lowered my head to seek Rita’s input. “Rita, we have two choices, red or white - what color should we get?” I knew what she would say.
“White.” said Rita. Rita does not like red cars.
I turned toward the agent and spoke with conviction, “We’ll take a white car, please.”
Without blinking an eyelash, the agent shot back, “We don’t have any white cars!”
Rita and I looked at each other in astonishment and broke into raucous laughter. We shifted our glances toward the counter to see what the agent was going to say next. To our surprise, he was stoic, his face blank, he had no idea why we laughed. He never realized the humor in what he had said. We hoped the exchange had nothing to do with our senior citizen status.
We rented a red car.
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© 2004 Bonita Productions Inc.
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