Diary of a Rental Car (eBook)

2.

The Deer Hunter

ould you like to add insurance to the car?” the rental agent asked the guy as they did the walk-around car inspection before leaving.

“Yeah, I think I am going to need it.” He responded with little hesitation. Such a quick response to this question has always had me nervous, because I had already learned that to a renter, insurance was a free pass to essentially do whatever the hell you want to the car and not be charged for it or have your insurance rates go through the roof. No deductible. Blame it on somebody else. The “I have no idea how the entire bumper was ripped off” situation. It is the sum of all my fears to jump at that option so quickly without a conversation about the cost or exact coverage.

He took the clipboard from the rental agent, initials the enormous number of appropriate boxes for the additional charge, and he was off.

This guy was tall, and after leaving the rental lot, he drove pretty quickly. Stepping on the gas at yellow lights, never really making a complete stop at any of the posted stop signs. He spent a ridiculous amount of time looking at directions on his phone of where he was going without looking at the road ahead. He spat tobacco into an empty soda can, every other deposit not completely getting the waste into the can but dripping off his chin where the remnants were wiped from his hand on-to the side of my driver’s seat. Beautiful. Just because you agreed to an additional $32 a day for the insurance, it’s not a license to prematurely end my usefulness.

After the familiar tones from the most annoying voice on the planet of the electronic GPA lady constantly saying, “Turn right here, turn right here,” we finally arrived at our destination on the outskirts of Phoenix. Not quite in the sticks, but well outside of the suburbs. Far east from town.

It was a ranch-style house, with no paved driveway and a sign that said, “I don’t dial 911, I dial .357!” attached to the chain link fence with the remnants of a coat hanger. An older house, but a comfortable looking one. A large front patio and a few dead bushes hang from planter boxes by the front door. Honestly, this was the sort of place I liked. Good folks who usually wanted to have a good time. Even if he drove like a complete asshole on the way up there, as I was subjected to.

He pulled up to a few people sitting outside by a small fire in a pit right in the center of the front yard. It looked like it was made from an old washing machine drum. Beside the house was a boat that looked like it had not been out on the water for well over a decade. Getting out, he was greeted by the ten to twelve people there with a lot of hugs, and a cold beer was opened and given to him. No less than eight dogs came running out of the house and one of them walked up to my back right tire, relieving itself with a healthy stream of urine. Lovely.

I waited for someone to get the garden hose out and take care of that situation. Even a quick rinse. Nope. Guess that it’s my problem, huh?

They sat around for a few hours, drinking beer, laughing, drinking beer, having something cooking on the BBQ outside that smelt amazing, drinking beer, telling jokes, drinking beer, catching up, and drinking beer. I saw a virtual gold mine of aluminum cans for their recycle value in a plastic bin that was empty only a few mere hours ago. It was quite an impressive feat to consume that amount of alcohol in such a short amount of time. But they were all catching up and having a good time. Being a car and all, I have never experienced being drunk, but it looked like a hell of a good time. I’m glad they were together. I always like seeing people together and enjoying their time. However, it’s probably best that I cannot get drunk, being a car and all. That irony was not lost on me. The whole driving thing and all.

After a few hours of them catching up and urinating on every square inch of the trees surrounding the home and two events of me getting a golden shower I was still pretty upset about, they retreat for the evening inside the house with the promise of getting up early for their trip the following day. As much as they were talking, I did not know what the plans were for the next day. Only that they would wake up a few hours before the sun was to come up. I was not much of an early riser, but I was curious to see what the plans for the next day. Maybe build a bathroom inside the house because I didn’t recall anyone going inside to use one. Who knows?

The next morning, four hours after the sun rose and well behind the agreed-upon time to meet back up, I saw a pickup truck drive up to the property. The kind of truck you could tell was originally red when it was new thirty years ago, but the decades of getting burned by the Arizona sun turned it to a color more closely resembling the dirt around us. The big old truck that just screams America, with a seven mile-to-the-gallon battle cry. The kind of truck with stories to tell. I wanted to hear those kinds of stories. It would be like listening to an elder on the key to a great life. Even long after this trip, I still wonder what stories that truck could have told me.

I become a bit envious, wishing for a brief period that I had been built as a truck. Go out and do truck things, you know? The guy who rented me comes out the front door; he’d probably only been awake for no more than one or two minutes, eyes puffy and red from the night before holding a cup of coffee. The guy in the truck gets out and gives a huge hug to the guy who rented me. I was unable to make out their relationship completely the night before. I assume, due to the obscene amount of beer they drank and the profanity-laced conversation that took place with it, but I could confirm that they were brothers and grew up in the house we were at together. The guy who rented me had moved for a job, years back and truly missed being at home and missed his brother. They had been planning this trip together for the last few months, saved their money for a long time and were ready to have a quality experience together.

Since their heads were a bit clearer this morning instead of last night, I was able to confirm what the agenda was and what their plans were. They were both drawn for a deer hunt up in northern Arizona.

Great! I figured they would head out and come back after a day or two with a nice harvest of game meat after having a great time together, and they would make great memories together in his brother’s truck. Excellent! I would just be here, waiting for the guy who rented me to come back, take him to his return at the airport and that will be that. Yet, I was quick to learn they had other plans. That was to take me up and not the truck.

I drew this conclusion when his brother started to take hunting gear out of his truck and place it in my trunk: a top-shelf .308 bolt-action rifle, backpack, game processing materials, and two coolers filled with ice. The guy who rented me came out of the house, put his bag in my trunk, and both of them gave a hug and a wave to their parents on the front porch, wishing them off for a successful hunt.

While I can assume this is not the first time it has been done, a front-wheel drive four-door sedan is probably not the pick of the litter as the best hunting vehicle. In terms of a hunting trip, I should be the awkward kid who was picked last at a game of flag football in a middle school setting for this task. You do not select the four-foot kid for basketball when you have plenty of six-foot kids to select from. Why would you take me when you have a first-round draft pick literally parked right next to me?

When the drive began, I learned that I was the vehicle for this trip because my gas mileage was better than the old truck. Well, save our natural resources, I guess.

We began the drive up north, only two hours up into the mountains and I must say I am relieved that our only offroad excursion was a well-grated dirt road with very few bumps and clear of all major rocks and any other debris. I was sweating that whole drive because the guy who rented me did purchase insurance. We pulled up to a makeshift campsite, nothing professionally built. A small patch of dirt with trees cleared out and a campfire ring built with rocks locally sourced, from the best I can tell, and another area just big enough to pitch a tent. They arrived, got set up, and started to talk about their plans for tomorrow. To get up before the sun rose, scout a nearby field, and with some luck, execute a deer in the morning, and be on their way.

This was when a burgeoning number of questions came to mind. If this hunt was successful, we would fit all the hunting gear, coolers, weapons, and other essentials into me? If this did go to plan the one thing I could not wrap my head around, no matter how it played out, always came back to the same question…

Where the fuck was the deer supposed to go? Seriously. I wondered if they were going to prop it up in the backseat and put a little hat on it so they could use the carpool lane? Strap it to the roof? My owner’s manual has a lot of information in it but nothing about transporting a carcass of this size. Or any carcass for that matter. Even if they dump the food from the coolers, I fail to believe that it is mathematically feasible to chop up the corpse and disburse the meat into those receptacles.

I do regress, because as a car, I have few natural enemies. Depending on where I am at, rust is one of them. Other cars or vehicles running into me, that is another big-ticket item. Also, drunk drivers. I hate them. Another one that circled around in the...