Remember The Alamo Lot
I've been on vacation in Oregon for the last week, in a small beach house with no phone or internet, which explains the lack of any new literary output, the delay in publishing comments and my general recent absence from the human race. It was great, especially the "getting away from the human race" part. There's nothing quite like geting herded back through airport security at the end of your vacation, surrounded by the slack-jawed, flat-footed, swollen-bellied, thick detritus of society to remind you how much you enjoy not being around them. And let's face it, these are the ones who can afford to fly and who presumably can command some sort of income.
Of course not all the stupid people in the world are traveling through airports; many of them work there too. I was reminded of this fact when I arrived in Portland and went to pick up my Alamo rental car. I've used Alamo before and never had a problem, but last time I was in Portland I used Avis because they were slightly cheaper. I was reminded of this when we finally got out of the airport building and approached the car rental garage where every major rental car company except Alamo seemed to be located. Alamo, by contrast, was at a remote lot, a bus ride away. No matter, I was saving over $100 on my eight day rental by using Alamo this time so it was worth the ride, right? Well, sort of.
We soon pulled up at a dismal remote lot which seemed to be clean and very uncluttered, especially by cars. I waited at the Alamo desk while the dipshit behind the counter sorted out a moron customer, only to be directed by aforesaid dipshit to the adjoining National desk, so he could go off and do something else, possibly involving self-abuse. (And why have two names if you're really only one company?) A woman with a borderline mental incapacity disorder, but wearing a National uniform, approched me to ask if there was anything she could do to help, except that she couldn't do much, but she'd have a look if I liked. I didn't quite know how to answer this but fortunately the bloke at the counter became available. He sorted out my online reservation and said I could select my midsize car from spaces C4, C5 or C6. I walked outside to find C4 empty and the Chevy Malibu in C6 being driven away. This left a very sorry looking Nissan Sentra in C5. It had 33,000 miles on it, was peppered with dents and scratches, needed fuel and had enough legroom in the back for two passengers, provided that you were planning to entertain Boxing Helena and her mate. I went back inside, noticing as I did that there were a couple of pissed-off looking customers outside already.
I told happy boy at the desk that the car was shit and not "Midsize" but he said they didn't have any others. I pointed out that I had a reservation and he started whining that they didn't know what time people would bring cars back, blah, blah, blah. Tempting as it was to give this head-graspingly unintelligent and useless specimen a lesson on the basics of demand management, forecasting and inventory control I quickly realized that it would be about as much use as talking loudly up a pig's arse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a harried-looking man in a nice white shirt with a name tag walking out of the back of the building. I followed him:
"You've got a nicer shirt than the others so I'm guessing you're the manager, right? I need a car." Diplomacy was ever my strong suit.
Turns out he was the best shot I had at making something happen. There was a Pontiac Vibe coming out of the car wash and he said I could have it. It didn't seem very midsize either but it looked clean; plus I had a three hour drive still to go, and I didn't like the look of the sweltering rental car lot, already partly filled with more disaffected customers than there were decent cars. It seemed to me that vultures were circling overhead, although that may have been my imagination. Another rental car employee was about to give it away to a young couple but smart-shirt man pulled rank and we drove off in the Vibe. Midsize or not (technically it seems to be a compact sport wagon, whatever the fuck that means) it was brand new, with less than 1500 miles on it, and quite fun to drive. It had no trouble cruising at 70-80mph whenever the twats that infest the roads in Oregon could be persuaded to move out of the left lane into one of the huge spaces to their right.
The only thing I didn't understand was why there were no Subarus at the rental lot. It appears to be some sort of State car in Oregon. I believe the State animal is the beaver, but on the strength of my experience at the Alamo I'm prepared to suggest that it should in fact be the gibbon, since that's clearly the intellectual level required to work with the public over there. Nice mountains though...
Copyright © 2008 Edward Bison
Of course not all the stupid people in the world are traveling through airports; many of them work there too. I was reminded of this fact when I arrived in Portland and went to pick up my Alamo rental car. I've used Alamo before and never had a problem, but last time I was in Portland I used Avis because they were slightly cheaper. I was reminded of this when we finally got out of the airport building and approached the car rental garage where every major rental car company except Alamo seemed to be located. Alamo, by contrast, was at a remote lot, a bus ride away. No matter, I was saving over $100 on my eight day rental by using Alamo this time so it was worth the ride, right? Well, sort of.
We soon pulled up at a dismal remote lot which seemed to be clean and very uncluttered, especially by cars. I waited at the Alamo desk while the dipshit behind the counter sorted out a moron customer, only to be directed by aforesaid dipshit to the adjoining National desk, so he could go off and do something else, possibly involving self-abuse. (And why have two names if you're really only one company?) A woman with a borderline mental incapacity disorder, but wearing a National uniform, approched me to ask if there was anything she could do to help, except that she couldn't do much, but she'd have a look if I liked. I didn't quite know how to answer this but fortunately the bloke at the counter became available. He sorted out my online reservation and said I could select my midsize car from spaces C4, C5 or C6. I walked outside to find C4 empty and the Chevy Malibu in C6 being driven away. This left a very sorry looking Nissan Sentra in C5. It had 33,000 miles on it, was peppered with dents and scratches, needed fuel and had enough legroom in the back for two passengers, provided that you were planning to entertain Boxing Helena and her mate. I went back inside, noticing as I did that there were a couple of pissed-off looking customers outside already.
I told happy boy at the desk that the car was shit and not "Midsize" but he said they didn't have any others. I pointed out that I had a reservation and he started whining that they didn't know what time people would bring cars back, blah, blah, blah. Tempting as it was to give this head-graspingly unintelligent and useless specimen a lesson on the basics of demand management, forecasting and inventory control I quickly realized that it would be about as much use as talking loudly up a pig's arse. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a harried-looking man in a nice white shirt with a name tag walking out of the back of the building. I followed him:
"You've got a nicer shirt than the others so I'm guessing you're the manager, right? I need a car." Diplomacy was ever my strong suit.
Turns out he was the best shot I had at making something happen. There was a Pontiac Vibe coming out of the car wash and he said I could have it. It didn't seem very midsize either but it looked clean; plus I had a three hour drive still to go, and I didn't like the look of the sweltering rental car lot, already partly filled with more disaffected customers than there were decent cars. It seemed to me that vultures were circling overhead, although that may have been my imagination. Another rental car employee was about to give it away to a young couple but smart-shirt man pulled rank and we drove off in the Vibe. Midsize or not (technically it seems to be a compact sport wagon, whatever the fuck that means) it was brand new, with less than 1500 miles on it, and quite fun to drive. It had no trouble cruising at 70-80mph whenever the twats that infest the roads in Oregon could be persuaded to move out of the left lane into one of the huge spaces to their right.
The only thing I didn't understand was why there were no Subarus at the rental lot. It appears to be some sort of State car in Oregon. I believe the State animal is the beaver, but on the strength of my experience at the Alamo I'm prepared to suggest that it should in fact be the gibbon, since that's clearly the intellectual level required to work with the public over there. Nice mountains though...
Copyright © 2008 Edward Bison
posted by Mr Bison at
8:26 PM
4 Comments:
I've rented a wide variety of cars and the Pontiac Vibe was one of my favorites. Granted, I didn't ride in it for longer than two and a half hours, but it had decent pick-up on the highway (I'm a mustang girl), it handled well in nasty weather and for it's small size, was surprisingly roomy and comfortable.
Welcome back Bison, hope you had a nice holiday.
I always thought that American customer service was meant to be the best in the World, "Have a nice day" and all that.
It sounds more like "You've been served, now fuck off. Right dickhead, you're next to get shafted"
Jaggy should be thankful that he doesn't have Charter cable.
Hope you had a nice vacation!
It was a great vacation, thanks.
Customer service over here is typically of the "thin veneer" variety. It's all "My name is Brittany and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?" which is still better than the UK. However, scratch the surface and it quickly becomes "What's your problem? Who gives a shit?"
Except for cable companies, who I believe are entitled under state law to simply fuck you in the arse...
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