Words Mean Things

People would do well to remember that words do, in fact, mean things. Take the word 'return' for example. The dictionary would have foolish believe it means "go back to a place or person". Yes, you would be a fool to believe this simplistic definition, as did I, once upon a time. That time was before I tried to pick up a rental car in the Anchorage airport.

We received the keys to said rental car, and asked the far-too-young myrmidon behind the counter exactly how we were to find said rental vehicle. We were told to RETURN to the elevator, go up one floor, get out and turn to the left and we would see the signs.

We thought this was a lot to ask, as the rental car counters are apparently placed half-way to the Bering Sea, yet somehow, paradoxically, under the same roof. The instructions to RETURN to the elevator meant re-tracing our earlier 500 mile trek from the elevators to the rental car counter in the first place, but ok.

Trek ensues. Trudging takes place. We get on said elevator, go up one floor, get out, turn left and... run into the stairs and escalators which will return you to the start point of the 500 mile schlep to get to the rental car counters in the first place. We were not amused.

So we asked some of the airport employees we found while wandering through the desert of our ignorance. We received more (incorrect) opinions than one would get from one dozen economists locked in a proverbial room. How any management could let such basic information, let alone incorrect speculation, not exist in the minds of the employees is criminal, in my humble opinion.

But the aneurism-triggering moment when we approached the Visitor Information booth only to find out BOTH employees were completely, utterly, helplessly clueless about where hundreds of parked vehicles in a large, concrete, immovable structure might possibly be contained on the premises.

That was the 10-ton straw that broke the camel's back. The Hulk is coming out!

I picked up my cell phone and proceeded to call up the rental car counter to vent my enlarged and enraged spleen. Since God has far since decided to take pity on me, the employee who originally sent us on this rage-inducing wild goose chase did not pick up the phone. This dear, sweet soul wondered how we could possibly have become lost finding our way to THE elevator.

Insert sound of record needle scratching across a record here.

THE elevator?

Dear, sweet angel. What do you mean "THE" elevator?

It turns out she meant THE elevator, as in the ONLY elevator one could every possibly use to reach the rental car garage. As in the elevator concealed from every angle except head-on by a pair of escalators. As in THE elevator about 30 feet away from said rental counter.

As in elevator we had never seen before in our lives, let alone used.

So when we were told to RETURN to the elevator, it was assumed, even though I had informed the agent this was the first time in, like, EVAR we had been in Alaska, let alone that airport. So telling us to RETURN to someplace we had never been was...well, an act of pure evil. She apologized profusely for our inconsiderate treatment, and gave us precise directions back to the necessary elevator, and within moments we had secured our rental.

So let me close with a word to the wise : the same government that designed a camouflaged elevator as the ONLY way to access a rented vehicle is the same government that designed your health care.

Sleep well !