OUT OF BODY (AND MECHANICAL EXPERIENCES

God Wants Me to Fly

by THOMAS GRECO, PUBLISHER

Buckle up folks, we’re in for a hell of a ride. Actually more like a HELL ride! Like everyone else, the past 18 months have been one long panic-demic for me, just as much as a pandemic. Throughout this shit storm, I’m sure your stress and blood pressure levels have gone through the roof like mine. Needless to say, after the NORTHEAST® show, I was looking forward to getting away to try and relax for a week. My family and I had decided to head back to our happy place in Orlando a few months ago. When I started booking the trip, the prices were through the roof, like everywhere these days. Renting a car was over $1,500! So, I figured I’d be smart. Amtrak’s Auto Train allows you to take your car with you, and since booking an overnight room with the car costs way less than the price of the car rental, I booked it. The catch: You have to drive from New Jersey to Lorton, Virginia to get to the train. In order to get the cars on the train, you have to be at the station by noon if you’re smart. They stop boarding at 2pm. I decided to drive the four-hour trip the night before (as you know, I am much more awake at 11pm than 11am). Only thing was, I forgot that I had tickets to a comedy show in New York that night. So, the (stupid) plan was to drive into the city, see Jim Jefferies, drive back home, pack, be on the road by 11pm and arrive in Lorton by 3am. You know what they say about the best laid plans? Just as we left the house to get onto Route 3 east, a torrential rainstorm hit. We were literally driving blind. Cars were drifting in and out of their lanes, and my wife was holding on for dear life, begging me to turn around. I turned up the stereo to drown her out and continued toward Manhattan. We finally made it to the parking garage. By the time we walked (I’m too old to run) to the theater, we were drenched. We enjoyed the show and left a puddle. I got home, loaded the truck and took off for Virginia. The rain, which had eased up, apparently was just waiting for me to get on the Turnpike. I wasn’t 10 miles from home when the second wave hit. For the next five hours, I was barely able to see while making sure the 18-wheelers passing me at 80 mph didn’t turn me into a sandwich. I pulled into the hotel around 3:30am. There was a little old lady working behind the desk who barely spoke English. She said she couldn’t check me in because the computers were rebooting. I looked at her and played puppy dog instead of the angry New Jersey guy. Somehow she figured out if she could write down my credit card number she could give me the key. You’d think I would have noticed as all these warning signs kept popping up. But no.

When I got to the room, something was off. There were no curtains on the window, and the shade was all the way up. I went over to it, and there were no strings. I tried to pull on the shade, but it wouldn’t budge. It was one of those electric ones, but I had never seen one of them in a hotel. I went into the bathroom to find it was a handicapped bathroom. Something wasn’t right. I went back down to my friend at the front desk and explained that I couldn’t get the shade down and it would be impossible to sleep. She told me to pull the strings. I said there were no strings. “Listen, I’m going across the street to get something to eat. Please see if you can figure this out or call someone.”

Twenty minutes later, I returned. “It’s too late to call anyone. Have you tried pulling the strings?” I just ignored her, took my fries and went back to the room. As I was getting closer, I noticed a metal sign by the front of my room. It said something like, “This room is for sight-impaired…” WTF? There are 200 rooms in this hotel. The parking lot is empty, and this is the room they give me? It was 4:30am. Before I went to bed thinking I’d have to sleep with a pillow over my head, I gave the shade one more shot. I noticed that there was a white block on the wall next to the window. I took my room key and scanned it by the white block and...the shade went down. I felt like I won the lottery. The next day started off pretty good. The handicapped shower was very cool. And for once, I was early for the Auto Train. I pulled into the station and said, “Good morning!” to the guy at the entrance. He gave me a dry look and asked my name. He checked the list, handed me my credentials and just before I drove away said: “Is that a 2021?” “Yes, I just leased it a few months ago.” “Okay. That’s not going to fit on the train.” “What?” “Nope. These new Chevys are too big.” “Are you f#$king kidding me? I just drove all the way from New Jersey. Why didn’t they tell me this when I registered the truck online?” “It’s your responsibility to measure the car, not ours. Please bring it to the side, and someone will tell you your options.” I was like, this has to be a joke or maybe he’s just a dumb security guard. I pulled up, and a nice woman came over with a measuring tape. She measured the car and walked around to my window.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Greco, this will not fit on the train.” “This is insane. What am I supposed to do?” She said I had two options: They could refund me the entire price, or I could take it somewhere and get one of the door mirrors removed and try to make it back there before 2pm. “This is a brand new truck! Besides, where the hell am I going to find someone to take off the mirror in time for me to get back here in an hour?” She said there was a gas station up the road that may do it. You can imagine the rage I felt. All the other options went through my mind. If I take the refund, I could drive straight to Florida. Another thing I’m too old to do, so that was out. I could drive back to New Jersey and take the regular train out of Newark the next day, but I was in no shape to drive another four or more hours back home. So I decided to find this gas station and see 1) If they could do it and 2) If they could do it immediately. The place was called Laurel Hill Car Care. I walked in, and of course the mechanic was out to lunch. So I sat there absolutely boiling. When he returned, I explained the situation. He was incredibly nice and said, “Don’t worry; we can do it and get you out on time.” As they were taking the mirror off, he said they got at least three or four of these jobs a week, that Amtrak is screwing their customers by not telling them ahead of time. That made me even more furious. Not only because of their

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