What We Choose to Follow

For the sake of wonder, frustration and HOLY COW!, years ago I began snapping phone photos of surprising things we by happenstance travel behind on the highway. Well, “travel behind” at least for a split second until we careen past them, or for several minutes as we poke along blind to everything but that which was in front of us due to its enormity. (Curses. Reaches for phone to snap a photo…)

Sure, we follow road signs and GPS instructions. Let's not forget lead cars through construction. And globs of scrambling people to another changed gate. 

But what we choose to follow throughout life is a bigger topic. For instance:

• Tweeple on Twitter, Facebook and Instagram 
•  The recommended food pyramid and the “new” upside down version of same 
•  The person in front of us in the restroom line  
•   Fashions. (I wear Crocs almost every day, so file that where you will) 
•  Trending diets 
•  Pill bottle instructions 
•   Our spouses and significant others across the country 
•   Musicians 
•   News channels 
•   Bad advice 
•  Hollywood types and the movies …

Case in point. In an attempt to slowly crank my slothy rigid body back to life again, I began following a gentle online yoga instructor. In a further attempt to bribe myself into actual participation, I paid for the series. FOR PETE’S SAKE YOU PAID FOR IT SO DO IT! It’s only ten minutes a day and the instructor’s mother sits next to her in a chair. (Chair yoga. It’s a thing. They offer it at senior centers and it is also in the title of this particular course.) Mom engages in the same poses but in a modified version due to lack of agility/mobility/youth.

For instance there is the Warrior Pose. Young Instructor (that’s not “my” course or instructor in previous hyperlink but a good illustration--and also I assure you I look NOTHING like that slim young poised woman) stands with one bent leg forward, the other leg outstretched behind. Mom carefully perches (careful Mom!) on the front side edge (-ish) of a chair, one leg forward, the other stretched back. There are arm and breath movements involved. Although I stand for this one, I sometimes LOL since I look anything but a warrior while weebly-wobbling in my ginormous sweat pants, sans warrior weapons, while occasionally grunting from the strain. 

Anyway, mom has a bum knee (one of mine replaced, the other sometimes moody) and she’s not very seasoned at yoga. **raises hand**  I waffle between following the mom or daughter based upon trust in my balance on any given day. 

Sometimes this decision intersects and changes directions depending on how long Younger Woman decides to blather on between poses after instructing us to Iiiinhale … Reeeach to the ceiling… then forgets to instruct us to exxxxxxxhale because she gets distracted by her own storytelling, at which point if standing, I crash into a nearby chair on my desperate near-death exhale after holding my breath too long.

This freaked us out until we realized it was being towed

But back to questionable following choices as they relate to travel. One incident in particular springs to mind: the day I road shotgun with a guy.

[TRUE CONFESSION INTERJECTION: Okay, there were dozens of those times and guys, but this One Particular Case In Point the guy I was riding with was lost and would not stop for directions. Okay, that one particular time and dozens of others. My marrying choice was partially based on a dude humble enough in spirit to not waste large portions of our lives lost. Thank you George Baumbich!]

We were in St. Louis MO in an unfamiliar area trying to return home to Illinois. He deduced that if we “followed that guy over there with the Illinois license plates” we’d find our way. And so we cut lanes and followed him.

We ended up at a zoo.

#truestory

DISCLAIMER: Following can be hazardous to your relationships.

When Small Things Matter (or should they?)

Last week, we purchased a new car for hubby. Well, new to us. It had 15,000 miles on it, which put the make, model and year we at long last narrowed our choices down to, in a range we could afford. We felt good about the deal. 

Today, I'll spare you most of the sordid shopping details, aside from the One Thing I really want to talk about, which I shall do later. Suffice it to say that on numerous occasions, our (hubby and I together, to use the word loosely) car buying experiences have been so horrendous, and so funny (in hindsight), that I've sold several stories about the hysterics and drama, the wars and compromises, the song that might best be titled I Left My Spouse at the Car Dealer Blues. If one of us likes it, the other doesn't. Exasperating is the word that comes to mind. I'm told couples can relate.

Having said all of that, we drove happily home in a 2011 Toyota Avalon Limited. (Factoid: the average age buyer for the Avalon is 64.) For two people who qualify for all senior discounts, not just some, we found the Sizzling Crimson Mica color quite exotic. It goes well with our cement driveway and the earrings I wore the day we signed the papers. Su-weet!

We traded in George's 2001 Buick LeSabre with 122,000+ miles. He loved that car; it served us well. My car, a 2003 Lexus RX300, has nearly 120,000 miles on it. We bought it used in 2003 with 5000 miles. I'm still in a love affair with my black comfy beauty. Both the LeSabre and the Lexus ran well, but we decided it was just time to up one, especially since we have a couple long trips in front of us, so we picked the oldest vehicle for our farewells.

I'm sure the Avalon's tricked out Navigation System will come in handy since we love to travel back roads. We adore the hands'-free functions, as well as the bazillion other fancy things the car offers, including reclining back seats and a back-up camera. It's HUGELY roomy. Whatever you need, we have a button for that. As soon as we figure them out and stop turning on our windshield wipers instead, life will be grand. The Avalon's ride is amazing. Street noise is missing. (Nice!) The same day we picked it up, we drove to Minnesota and averaged nearly 31 miles per gallon. YES!

But none of that is what I really want to talk about today. When we were signing the papers—literally—something struck in my craw, and I can't seem to get over it. Perhaps it's because I'm a seasoned traveler. But before I deliver the craw-sticker, let us recap: we dropped a bucketload of money on a new-to-us car, purchased at a Toyota dealer so large, it has access to a test track. (Yes, we used it. Perhaps I'll post about that another time.) Their service department waiting area is pleasant and well lit; the ladies' room is regal. The ginormous overall facility is spotless. But when we went to sign the papers, back in the secret bowels of the building, the gentleman handed us each a very familiar ballpoint pen with Hilton HHonors™  printed on it. One was slightly chewed and missing the cap clip.

"Seriously? These are the pens you give people to sign contracts?" I said this out loud, volume slightly up, without a trace of humor in my voice because I felt none. I didn't sound angry, mind you, but … serious.

"Hey, they were free," the guy said with a smile, thinking this was all in good fun.

"This is pretty tacky." Again, no smile from me. "It's just wrong to hand these to your Toyota buying customers."

"What kind of pen do you want?" he asked, now sounding confused, perhaps slightly offended himself, which I'm sure I sounded by now.

"One that doesn't say Hilton HHnors™  on it. Maybe one that says Toyota and includes your dealer name?" I refrained from adding, One that hasn't been chewed.

"Those disappear," the guy said.

"You mean the same way these pens disappeared from your hotel room? They're advertising. They're supposed to disappear."

By now, the guy figured out I was not kidding, about any of this. He commandeered the Hilton pens and swapped them out for what he called the "plain Bic pens with no character."

"Good," I said. "That's much better." At last, I smiled.

For the record, I am a proud Hilton HHonors™  member, and likely already have a bunch of said pens here and there and everywhere in my travel bags. And my husband and I didn't keep the plain Bic pens, which we weren't offered to keep anyway. To be honest, I don't need another pen and likely wouldn't have taken it unless the person handing us the pens would have said, "By the way, keep the pen, maybe in your car. It has our phone number on it in case you ever need to call."

Since this episode, my husband has brought up the topic with every friend we've visited. "And she didn't have a trace of humor in her voice," he says. "She wasn't kidding." I can never decide whether he's more amazed by the Hilton pens, or my strong objection to them.

(Pause two minutes here while I ask. I can't believe I haven't asked before this!)

I called a quick kitchen-table meeting and made my query. George's response, "I was surprised this bothered you so much. I mean, I'll admit it was strange to be handed Hilton pens, and you could have mentioned it. But maybe you didn't need to sound so … demeaning about it."

In all honesty, since he said that, I feel a little embarrassed. It was surely not my intent to demean the guy! Talk about tacky and disrespectful, Charlene! But I did want to make a point: in business, small things matter. Toyota makes a good product. The sales' team (and of course their managers) had worked hard to give us a quality experience and seal the deal. Why ruin it with a final tacky action? Come to think of it, I guess it felt kind of demeaning, to use George's word of the day, to be handed some guy's chewed pen from one of his hotel rooms, a feeling which is perhaps what set me off. I mean, go ahead, collect the hotel room pens, dude. Just don't hand them to your Toyota customers.

But now, I'm curious: am I the odd one here? Barring my apparently insensitive response to the guy's tacky chewed pen offering (okay, it still grinds me), what do you think? Should this kind of traveling business detail matter? Say if American Airlines handed you a pen with Fairfield Inn and Suites printed on it to sign your credit card purchase for first-class tickets, would you even take notice?

Please weigh in with a comment. Help save a marriage. (Just kidding. Seriously.)

.