It was a short flight for me. Which I spent mostly checking my eyes for light leaks. You’ll all be happy to learn that my eyelids are still 100% functional. I think I was asleep before we taxied onto the runway.
And I woke up as we arrived. Getting off the plane I took a deep breath of sunny Los Angeles air. And ten minutes later, after my coughing fits had subsided, I picked up my bags and headed to that internationally well-known car rental agency – Fox Rent-A-Car.
And what a car rental agency it is folks.
Now, some might feel that previous statement a touch sarcastic. Well, that’s what I was thinking, too, until the end of my dealings with Juan, my “Customer Satisfaction Representative”.
JUAN: Hokay, Meester Durmag, here ees de kees to jore Caravan.
ME: Umm… Wait a second. A Caravan? I specifically requested a mini-van with seats that fold down ALL THE WAY. I need to —
At this point what I almost said was… “I’m going on a surf vacation with on a vehicle and I NEED to sleep in the back of the freaking van! How the hell am I going to sleep in the back when there are two rows of fucking SEATS!!”
But I didn’t. I may have been still mostly drunk from the week in Banff, but I’m not that stupid. What I said was…
ME: I need to carry my surfboard in the back. It says in my file that I specifically requested a mini-van with seats that FOLD DOWN ALL THE WAY.
Nevertheless, Juan tried to pass off the piece-of-shit Caravan to me. But I was having none of it.
ME: Juan, you are supposed to be a Customer SATISFACTION Representative. I am deeply UNSATISFIED. And you need to do something. What do you think I can do – walk next door to Avis and expect to get a mini-van off the lot now???
And folks, I gotta tell you, despite my reservations. And the sincere expectation that I would need to go nuclear before anything was going to be done… Juan and that rental car company that none of us have ever heard of, delivered. Juan went into the back. Talked to his manager and came up with this solution.
Juan: Hokay Meester Durmen, I haf sumtheeng for jew. I haf a top of de line SUV weeth seets that folt all hway down. But I no can geeve to jew for same rate.
(BTW – It’s important to notea at this point that my weekly rate for said minivan was $170 per week. You can’t even rent rollerblades for that in most cities. Ahhh… LA… the land of automobiles and enough smog in the air to keep you high as a kite all day long.)
Me: What… you’re going to charge me a bazzilion dollars to take an expensive –
Juan: $35 extra per week.
Me: (thinking “Hmm… Top of the line SUV? That means riding in a vehicle that, instead of being driven by soccer moms is driven by pimps and rappers. For a total cost of $200 per week?”) DEAL!
Yes folks. Instead of cruising around like a middle-aged family man, I could now show up to the beach in style. And in doing so, I could also avoid getting my mini-van driving pansy ass kicked by cool, studly surfers (who drive COOL cars) before I even got out of the parking lot.
Because this is what I was driving…
I liked to think of it as a “baby Hummer”. Stef liked to describe it as “WAY too cool for you, Morgan”.
But she didn’t complain when we rolled up to one of her auditions and she felt like a superstar with her own Entourage. [BTW – To be clear, when you drive a bad-ass vehicle like this, you don’t drive places, you ROLL…]
And later that night, I rolled up to my favourite LA sushi joint – Sushi Mon, where most of my LA peeps were waiting for me. And we had a great dinner where we stuffed our faces full of raw fish and guzzled iced green tea and sake like it was going out of style.
Sadly, I have no photos for you all too see. I left my camera behind. Sue me. Perhaps you can imagine a bunch of totally cool people at a funky LA sushi restaurant having tons of fun. Imagine that it’s just like Entourage… Vince, E & the boys drinking Cristale and having a great time. I can imagine that. It wasn’t what really happened, but I can imagine it.
To be serious for a moment… Big props to all my LA peeps. It was so great to be in town for a day and get to see you all together. And yes, I will be back soon – for a taping of B’s new sitcom. So we can “Do it again” for real then. [Morgan’s Note: I did in fact come back in October to see a taping of Brooke’s sitcom, Happy Hour. It was really funny. Which, of course, meant that two weeks later, Fox cancelled it. Sigh.]
And to my other LA peeps who I got to hang out with – Laura, Jenn, Stef – it was great to catch up with you too. (Note to all: Stef has a REALLY comfy couch. Plus she makes food for you if you stay there. I give it five stars.) Hopefully you all can make the next Sushi-Mon extravaganza. Well not you Jenn. Miss I’m-Moving-To-New-York-So-My-Hubby-Can-Work-For-A-Hot-New-Sitcom-And-You-Should-Feel-Sorry-For-Me–Because-I’m-A-New-Mom. I say “Whatever! 30 Rock, 30 Scrock! It’s your loss.”
(For those of you who don’t know her, this is Miss I’m-Moving-To-New-York-So-My-Hubby-Can-Work-For-A-Hot-New-Sitcom-And-You-Should-Feel-Sorry-For-Me–Because-I’m-A-New-Mom.)
So I did, in fact, finally leave LA and head off to my two week “Sleep/Surf Extravaganza”. And I’ve only left out one great story. Buying my surfboard. Which, incidentally, looked like this:
It looks kinda cool, doesn’t it? But I soon came to call it by it’s real name, The Platform of Bodily Abuse. But that’s for about 2 chapters from now.
So I’m at the local surf shop and I’ve picked out my super cool new board. Got a great deal on it. And I’m in and out in no time. Which was nice, because I spent 6 hours on the freeway trying to get to the damned shop. And I knew that I had about 12 hours on the freeway to get back to where I was going. (11 blocks away.) So I’m loading my board in the back of “my ride”. [Note again: When you drive a car this cool, you don’t say “SUV” or “Jeep” or “Commander”, it’s just your “ride”. Anything else is Just. Not. Cool.]
The only problem was that, after I’d popped the tailgate, I’d tossed my keys into the back. Because I had to climb into “my ride” to load the board.
Let me remind you now that I don’t have a “ride” in my real life. I have a “piece of shit”. With four wheels and an engine. And it’s purple. Yes, people. Purple. I DIDN’T CHOOSE THE COLOUR!!! But I digress.
I have never owned a car with those fancy key fobs which control the locks and the truck/tailgate. And have that crazy panic button.
I’ve never even owned a car with automatic locks.
To lock my car, you must push the thingy down. To unlock my car, you use a key or pull the thingy up.
You do not press a button.
So, when I climb into the back of “my ride” and I accidentally kneel on my keys, I don’t think about what that might do. Even though I hear a short blast from a nearby car horn. And, even after I’ve loaded in my board and closed the tailgate – with my keys still inside the car, I don’t worry. Because I have opened all of the other doors. So that won’t be a –
Oh fuck.
On the plus side. And as a testament to my good fortune on my vacation, I rejoined CAA (for you yanks, that’s the Canadian version of AAA) three days before I departed.
So one hour later, Julio had me back into my vehicle and I was ready to hit the freeway once again.
As a sidebar… Why is it that it took approximately 30 seconds for Julio to break into “my ride” – an expensive SUV that would be coveted by car-thieving crack addicts, when each time I’ve locked my keys in my Toyota ShitBox – a car that crack addicts won’t even piss on, it takes an average of FORTY-SEVEN MINUTES to unlock. (Incidentally, I have locked my keys in my ShitBox a grand total of 5 times. During one particularly brilliant period of my life, I did it four times in nine months. So I speak from experience…) Some things in this world just don’t make sense to me. Like why I can’t find a girlfriend. But I digress again.
In case you care, my key fob fiasco did make me late for a rendezvous with Stef and Laura in Malibu, at the fantastic “Paradise Cove”. This was especially unfortunate because, if you don’t know Stef and Laura, they are not exactly the masters of self-control. They are in fact required, under the terms of their recent plea bargain, to have a chaperone whenever they are in the presence of alcoholic beverages. Especially mojitos. By the time I arrived, they were both plastered. So, since there was no chance of stemming their alcoholic indulgences, I took another tact – I drank with ‘em. Helped to take the sting out of the embarrassment I was still feeling.
