Los Angeles: Day 1

Flying into Los Angeles, the city seems to go on forever.

Whenever I return to Los Angeles, I remember the times I spent sitting in traffic singing at the top of my lungs to keep from losing my mind. I remember meeting a random guy at a gas station who later stole discounted toilet paper from a super market and split the proceeds with me. I remember juggling college and full time work and extra work and volunteering and dating. (Where did all that energy go?) Now, upon my return to L.A. for a week long visit with my husband, we are most excited not about sights like beaches or tar pits or walks of fame but rather honey walnut prawns, hot dogs and huge burritos. That's right. We have officially become foodie tourists. Crazy.

After deboarding the plane, we found the rental car shuttle to pick up our reservation. The exchange with the rental guy was a real gem. I was immediately reminded of how L.A. is all about the hard sale. The billboards, the celebrities, the residents, everything all converges to sell you something. The convo went like this.

Venice Beach and the Pacific Ocean beyond.

"Hey are y'all Nigerian? Because my wife and I know Nigerians." How nice. He knew people from another country. I wished I had a cookie to give to him.

"Yes, we do happen to be." I am Nigerian by marriage but I didn't feel like going into detail on that with him.

"Oh wonderful. Nigerians love Louis Vutton bags." Okay, lovely stereotype, Asshole. This was him establishing a "connection" with us and also figuring aloud that we, as a people, like to spend our hard-earned money on unnecessary crap.

"Some of us do." Just like any other population of human beings who may or may not have name brand preferences in bags.

"We'll give you the week-long rental for $75 but it's going to be a real gas guzzler like a Grand Marquis or a Crown Victoria. I can switch you to a more gas efficient car for an additional $10 a day." So, he was going to be doing us a favor. Right. I swear I selected the economy class car when I made the reservation. This fool wanted us to double down to avoid driving something with a V8 (which we had not chosen) to save on gas as if the  V8 technology hasn't improved on fuel efficiency since 1912. I don't scare easy. I wanted the damn $75 deal.

"We'll take our chances with the sales deal, Sir." I used to live here. I know where the cheap gas stations are and how to avoid traffic.

"Okay, well you'll also want to get the basic insurance for $9 a day because blah, blah, blah and if the car comes back with a single scratch then you could be paying $250 a day for repairs blah, blah, blah." A scratch? Oh no! I have no faith in my own driving skills. I'm definitely going to scratch up the car. Let me give this insulting idiot and an additional $63 for fear of a scratch.

"We've got full coverage through our insurance plan. No thanks." Thank you, Geico.

After that whole  rental debacle, we got our hands on some honey
walnut prawns courtesy of Hop Woo in Chinatown.  

"But according to California law blah, blah, blah and the cost of going without this additional coverage will end up hitting you really hard." Dude didn't know he was talking to an attorney and someone who used to work in direct sales. Jerk. He was probably gunning for a sales prize because as I listened to the other rental clerks around me they were all trying to upsell from the threat of the V8 and push the basic insurance coverage. And they were not backing down from first and second refusals. Thank goodness I love saying "no" a lot.

"No, thanks."

We went out to the lot to retrieve our suppposed cop car and the only car available was an Ultima.   We did our own inspection to check for dings and scratches but upon final checkout the attendant revealed that we would only actually be liable for dents. Sigh.

Welcome to Los Angeles. Home of "I will tell you as many lies as I can muster to make a bonus on my check." Yeah, I remember that all too well. This is one of the reasons why I live in Atlanta.