My wife and I had just flown from Boston to Los Angeles, and then successfully navigated the baggage claim at LAX.
All we had to do was pick up our rental car, and we’d be off on our adventures.
And that’s when the fun — and by “fun,” I mean “not fun” — started.
“Go to the building for the people who had pre-ordered their rental cars,” they said. “It would be quicker,” they said.
It was the ideal combination of the rental car company having just enough people to handle a normal line of normal transactions and multiple people either confused or complaining about their rental cars.
In fact, if you’re at LAX and see a guy sulking in the corner, waiting for the Corvette he says he was promised, say hi to him for me, and to his friend, who I assume after two years has made it through Customs.
As we were standing in line grousing about the wait, I started cracking jokes.
And maybe my stuff was particularly good that day, or maybe it was just any port in a storm, but people were laughing.
Eventually the oddly complicated rentals got done, a manager had taken Corvette Dude off to the side and we got our keys. As we were walking to our assigned car, one of us noted a bright yellow car in the distance and made a crack about how we’d probably get that one as punishment for my very loud, very funny jokes.
But a funny thing happened.
We loved that yellow Kia basically from first sight.
We called it the Bananamobile, and we drove it proudly all over Los Angeles.
Even for fairly reserved people like us, sometimes you have to embrace the garish, like a bright yellow Kia. (Note to self: remind my wife of this when she wonders what made her husband crazy enough to get giddy over Syracuse and Utica College shirts in bright, screaming, see-me-from-the-moon orange.)
But just as importantly, it’s Los Angeles. BMWs, Corvettes (sorry, dude), Jaguars and all other kinds of sports cars are everywhere you go.
But how many people were rocking a bright yellow Kia from Santa Monica to Malibu to Venice Beach?
You got it, just us.