Out of the Wilderness

I am a firm believer that everyone needs to work in a fast food job.  It helps build the strength and character that’s necessary later in one’s career.  I will absolutely encourage my girls to go get jobs in fast food.  Fast food taught me lots of valuable lessons, the most important lesson, one that I think about all the time:  Just because the mall is empty it doesn’t mean you’re not going to get mugged when you drop your drawers in the restroom.

After the mugging, the sexiness faded from a career in speedy food service, so it was time to look around for a new job, and that’s when I discovered the car rental business which turned out to be my first, and final leap into the white collar world.   I jumped from selling fries in a mall to renting cars in an airport.  Well, at first, I didn’t even get the plum airport assignment, which, for the car rental business is the top of the food chain.  That’s where the car rental superstars really shine.  

I worked in some out of the way rental office that specialized in moving trucks and mini-vans, where I could go for days without seeing an actual customer.  We got a lot of phone calls, but on Sunday afternoon at that location, I could just feel myself growing old.  After a couple of months of work, and having rented a grand total of probably 15 vehicles, I got the call.   Somebody called in sick at the airport.   I felt like a ball player on the farm team getting called up to the big show.  I was going to fill in at the airport.

If you’ve been there, you know that the MacDonald Cartier Ottawa International Airport is not nearly as busy as you may think for an airport in the nation’s capital.  In fact, in those days, the early nineties, nobody even called the MacDonald Cartier Ottawa International Airport.  Even the airport location of this national car rental company did not do what you might consider to be brisk business.  And we were maybe the third or fourth busiest company at the country’s sixth or seventh busiest airport.  But that sure didn’t stop me from putting on my best uniform tie and running up there like a crazy man.

I showed up at the airport on Friday night at 5pm to cover the shift feeling pretty good about myself.  What I didn’t know is that I was going to be all alone, with the exception of one car jockey who would move cars around, but who I really think was sitting down at the service bay enjoying some time with his best friend, Mary Jane.  At 5:30 or 6:00 pm, everyone deserted the airport, leaving me in charge.  I looked at the reservation list, and I had about eight reservations, not exactly the big night I was looking for to launch me to car rental superstardom.  Looking down the row of car rental kiosks, it became pretty clear that the superstars didn’t work the Friday night shift.  Like me, all my colleagues at the other companies had nothing else going on, and working was better than nothing.

When the 6pm flight arrived from God knows where, it became painfully obvious that my two months of experience and the fifteen rental agreements for 14 foot cube vans that I had executed in the car rental wilderness had left me completely ill prepared to handle the eight passengers who expecting the speedy service promised in the brochure (remember now, this was pre-internet, when brochures were still king).

My first customer at the airport that fateful night was Dr. Orr.  I’m not changing his name, because he was a pretty cool dude.  I had absolutely no idea how to rent a car at the airport.  I couldn’t work the printers, I couldn’t find the car keys, I couldn’t even make a call because the phones were a different system than I was accustomed to.    Dr. Orr presented himself, and his reservation number and for some reason, expected to drive away in a car.  About 25 minutes into a process that should take 3 minutes at the most, Dr. Orr leaned over the counter, as other passengers were rapidly bailing to other car companies, and said in a very gentle way, “Are you alright son?  I bought my last car in less time than it’s taking you to rent me this one.”  All at once I was both relieved by his tone and resolute in my intent to rent him the fucking car.

I don’t know why, but the temporary assignment at the airport became permanent.  In the ensuing 18 months I became quite a pro.  Maybe even a superstar (in my own mind, at least).  I was whipping cars out of there in 2 or 3 minutes, and many of the regulars always got into my line.  I loved every minute of that job.  On Wednesdays and Sundays, the KLM flight came in, and I got to watch the KLM flight attendants walk by my kiosk.  They were beautiful, and that was a real highlight of the week.  One day, though, I was offered a supervisory role at the central office, which was closer to home, and I decided to accept it, even though it meant not being able to check out the KLM stews ( I did manage to often be at the airport on Wednesday afternoons, though).  

In a weird twist of fate, on the last shift at the airport, the six o’clock flight from God knows where arrived, and the last customer I served at the airport was the good doctor Orr.  You think I’m making that up, but I’m really not.  And since I have a memory for these bizarre things (ask anybody), I mentioned to him that it was my last night at the airport and that he was going to be my one of last customers, and that I thought it was pretty cool that he was also my very first customer almost two years before.  He looked at me with a look that could only mean one thing:  “Who the hell are you, and why are you bothering me…rent me the bloody car and get me the hell out of here.”  All he said was ‘Oh.  Good Luck.’   

So I learned a lesson that I remember very clearly today:  It takes a hell of a lot more than just showing up to make you a superstar, particularly as far as a customer is concerned.