Good grief! Robomum asked on her blog, via The Lounge, this week, if we’ve ever had a dummy spit. If so, to blog about it and link up.
So I’ve been sitting here trying to think of which situation to blog about. Yelling at the lady who cut in front of me while Christmas shopping? Nope. The dummy spit I had when somebody drove into my car? Not even close. Not even the time I was called a ‘slut’ by a customer at my checkout when I was at my high school job!
The time my hire car was broken into and I had stuff stolen.
Picture this scene. My husband and I were married only a week and were on our honeymoon in New Zealand. We had already spent time in the Bay of Islands, Auckland and Rotorua and were spending one night in Wellington before heading to the South Island.
Our journey from Rotorua to Wellington was disastrous! We had estimated to be in Wellington by mid afternoon, however what we hadn’t known about was the annual cyclist race from Rotorua to Taupo. So what should have only been a quick drive turned into a cross country voyage, avoiding road blocks. Then the Desert Rd from Taupo south to Palmerston North was closed due to a serious car accident. We were then finally free to hit the road and drive further south, but knew if we didn’t hurry we’d lose daylight. I drove that leg south and drove through some of the most amazing countryside, all golden in autumn shades. Then, as we hit the Wellington outskirts, the rain came down in torrential amounts. I was terrified! People who knew the roads speeding past me. The road hooking around the cliff, that was above a sheer drop into the ocean. It was so scary.
We finally pulled into Wellington just on sunset. Found our hotel and parked the car in the valet. Then tried to find dinner. On a Saturday night, the CBD was dead quiet. Not another soul for miles around. We did however, find a rugby union pub in the middle of a decomposed nightlife scene and settled for deep fried chicken and chips for dinner, washed down with Lindauer Brut.
By this stage we were merry on cheap bubbly and laughing about the horrible drive south.
The clouded view from our Wellington hotel room
The next morning, it was time to check out. We were on a tight schedule to drop the hire car off at the ferry terminal and get on the Interislander to Picton. We checked out with no issue and the valet went to collect our car. As soon as he drove it around the corner (where it had been parked well away from the hotel) I could see the smashed window. I flipped! “This isn’t our car!” I exclaimed in shock. The man said “oh I’m sorry, I’ll go back and check again”. I said “No! Look! It’s been broken into, this is our hire car”.
My husband and I inspected the damage and noticed that a few of our belongings had been stolen. Our GPS charger, my phone charger, some coins in the ash tray. However the worst was the fact that we had paid for our car to be parked securely and here it was, damaged and had our belongings missing from it!
Before my husband could stop me, I stormed back into the hotel demanding to see the manager. To cut this epic story short, I did my ‘nana. Deadset. There were two bus loads of senior citizens in the foyer who witnessed my Trans-Tasman meltdown. I think it may have measured on the Richter scale.
We missed our ferry. Which set us back in time, which meant we missed our tour of the Montana Winery. We did however manage to get the hotel to cover all repair costs of the hire car (saving us thousands in excess). We also got to then take a leisurely drive in our new and undamaged hire car on the South Island until we arrived at our beautiful hotel in Kaikoura.
I do sometimes think fondly back on that morning. I blew my stack. I wasn’t rude. I was angry. I was totally assertive. It was awesome.
I wish I had the girl in me more often. She doesn’t take crap off anyone.