Loving The Alien

Another travel story

As promised, I migrated from Mailchimp to Substack. Phew! It’s a lot easier to post so if you’ve just come along or been dragged over from MC I hope you’ll stay! I’ll include what I’m up to as well posting the pieces I’ve done via my blog for years. Thanks for joining me.

“I need to return this rental car tomorrow,” Eric said. He’d been booked to return to the US two weeks ago, but his aunt’s funeral pre-empted that. I’d joined him for the funeral in Worthing and then we’d traveled up to Norfolk. 

He’d arranged with a different company to rent a car for one more week, til I and then he would fly back to New York. I offered to come with him to Stansted Airport to make the exchange. “It’ll be a day out” we agreed. The old team.

Stansted is one of those small off-brand airports, many miles from London or anywhere really. You can't fly to or from the US directly, but Ryan Air or EasyJet can get you to Sweden or Spain. Eric had flown there via Iceland, which probably sounds more exciting than it actually is unless you manage to get out of the airport and see Iceland. When we arrived at rental returns and dropped off the car, the rental kiosk in the car park was deserted. We walked across the vast expanse of shiny vehicles, not a soul in sight, and into the counter area, which was also fairly sleepy. It was bank holiday weekend, a stunning spring Saturday, and as we’d headed south to the airport, it had looked like the whole country was heading north to the coast.

We stood at the National counter but when the young guy couldn’t find Eric’s reservation, he realized he’d booked with Enterprise - a common error as they share a color scheme. I went over to sit down while Eric approached the appropriate rental counter, and busied myself with my phone. I heard Eric’s familiar voice sounding quite animated, and the cheerfully modulated servicespeak of the Enterprise team member. After a while I noticed increasing laughter from the counter, and it looked like a crowd was growing over there. The original employee in his white shirt, black jacket with green accents, had been joined by a Hertz guy in a black waistcoat. A second Enterprise fellow had materialized and a pretty young woman who looked like the manager was circling. After a little while an Avis guy wandered over to join in the fun. “Huh,” I thought.

More minutes passed. The manager woman was laughing now too. Her face was a bit flushed, it almost looked like she’d loosened her tightly braided hair. I heard Eric’s voice rising, and I tensed into steely wife mode developed over years of experience: “Trouble? What’s he up to? Oh god, does he need backup?” but the rental counter erupted in laughter again.

It felt like at least a half hour had passed since I’d sat down. I could see out the window that the bright blue sky and warm sunlight was softening towards late afternoon.  I remembered that I don’t actually hang around airports for fun. I stood up and headed over to the group.

“Eric, would you like to introduce me to your new friends?” I kept my voice light. “I haven’t heard this much laughter at a car rental counter since…well, ever.” Everybody looked a little sulky for a second. I felt like a mother intruding on a slumber party, a private world of fun woven with strands of boredom and imagination. The team’s eyes were shining, Eric was chuckling. I half expected him to tell me he was going to start working there.

car park on the coast

I’ve seen him dazzle at Home Depot and charm at every local coffee place back in New York. But that’s almost more like he’s E.T. and everybody loves the alien. This was Eric on his home turf, playing to an adoring crowd who had no idea he does this for pay. The team were glassy-eyed with love.

Goodbyes were said that sounded weirdly like promises to keep in touch. The initial counter agent strolled out from behind the desk, practically draping an arm over Eric’s shoulder. He led us out to the car park, joking all the while. I didn’t really feel irritated with Eric but instead a sense of pride — the guy is such a born entertainer, he can make even a drab afternoon working indoors at an airport car rental counter while the rest of the country either flies away to exciting destionations or parties in the sunshine so much fun you’d wonder why anyone would want to be anywhere else.

My husband’s new friend looked pleased as he led us to a row of cars. He’d told Eric he was upgrading him, just for…being him. The guy practically spread his arms wide like a lady on a TV game show, as he revealed to us:

Possibly the ugliest car I’ve ever seen in my life. Garishly orange-red, flared in all the wrong places and nipped in where you’d want it to flair. The guy was beaming.

“Regard, your Ford Puma,” he said proudly, or maybe sheepishly, pronouncing the word “puma” with an extra syllable, “pee-yuma.”

We opened the doors. I oohed and aahed about the red topstiching on the black upholstery because, well that seemed like a nice touch and I felt like I needed to find something to be grateful for. Eric had taken the full coverage (if you’ve ever had an incident renting in Europe or the UK you might have found out the hard way they hold your deposit forever while the insurance is sorted out) so the usual walkaround inspection was perfunctory. “I think I might drive it into a wall, just to get my money’s worth,” Eric said and the guy almost pounded him on the back. “Go for it!” What sort of deal with the devil had been struck here?

We drove out of the airport, back into the world, the beauty of spring in the English countryside. Snowdrops bursting forth in hedges, lambs gamboling, frisky young colts cantering around lush green fields. We laughed and laughed about the fun Eric’d had killing time with the car rental gang. Usually the exchanges at these places are deadly, you feel sorry for the employees while they resent but humor you with customer service overkill. A lot of car rental places have done away with human exchange completely - you check in at a kiosk, never speak to a person, walk out to a futuristic field of cars eerily sitting with motors running, lights on, keys in the ignition (or more often these days nestled in the cup holder as the cars start at the touch of a button.)

The price of all the fun in addition to whatever the car cost, only became apparent as we covered some miles. Used to being relatively low key (my boring but trustworthy Subaru) or subtly cool (Eric’s old Buick or 80s Cougar), I wasn’t sure I was imagining the looks of annoyance or even downright revulsion when we pulled into gas stations or a restaurant car park. I did clock the raised eyebrows of our friends when we pulled up to their house, and the local coffee shop owner who threatened not to serve us if we parked in front of his establishment. Online reviews of the car refer to it as "disappointingly ugly" and "resembling an obese frog" (no offense to frogs). But it was a reasonable price to pay to see Eric spread the joy and also lay groundwork for what could be a…not exactly pleasant but certainly humanitarian way to pass the time in the very unlikely event he ever retires. I believe he’d wear that black and green blazer very well.

Back in the US, yesterday Eric's phone rang. Enterprise calling from Stansted Airport. As arranged, Eric had returned the car to Heathrow and gotten on a plane back to New York. The guy from Stansted said Enterprise were having trouble locating the car at Heathrow. Thank God he took the full cover.

Eventually they found that hideous Puma, and called again to let Eric know everything was okay. Maybe. I think the Enterprise crew at Stansted just really missed the sound of his voice.

Shows coming up, me & Eric on bass with Doug Wygal on drums, info