I’d rather say “no”…and reflexively do, so I don’t have to rethink anything I’ve decided about.
Except last week at the rental car counter. I reserved a compact as I usually do. But the agent, almost tearfully sincere, tells me she’s really concerned about my comfort…a compact, she says with no enthusiasm, voice trailing off…you know how small it is. I’d rather see you in a “premium”, so you can stretch out and feel like there’s a real can under you.
Usually, I’d have stopped her with a smile and a quick “no” to show I know a thing or two about ‘bait and switch’. But I’ve let cream puffery creep in and I let her finish. At least she didn’t say, “you’re worth it”.
So I say, “OK”…feeling a bit like Samson, shorn. And I walked the aisle of panting premiums, picked one and cast about for the key…on the dash, on the floor, in the visor…nothing, just a plastic snub-nosed oval with no metal, serrated piece attached. I’m about to walk for help, when I finally realize, this must be the ‘key’ and eventually found the slot the snub nose fit into.
My first exposure to a premium and I can’t even recognize the key. Wouldn’t happen in a compact. I guess I’m not to the manor born.