“Have you ever been to the company unit in Korea, Trevor?” Karen asked.
“Yes, I have,” Trevor replied. “That’s the one with the really fancy toilet, isn’t it? With the all controls?”
“That’s right. And the heated toilet seat,” Karen said and sighed.
The blissful way with which she said that made me wonder about the place they were talking about, and also wonder about their sanity. Of course, this was at the end of a week of work in Los Angeles, and we were on the way back to the airport so we could fly home, so a certain degree of insanity could be expected.
I wasn’t joining in the conversation because I was driving. While I’ve driven in the USA before, a left-hand-drive vehicle that I’m not familiar with, in peak hour on a Friday afternoon, is a challenge that still requires a reasonable amount of concentration. The added complication of going back to the airport by a route that I was not familiar with, just made it more interesting.
“Karen, are you sure you know the way to the 110 from here?” I asked, while trying to keep the car on what I thought was the correct speed limit, and ignoring all the other drivers who seemed to think that I was driving too slow.
“Just turn left onto Arroyo Parkway and it’ll be fine. It’ll all be well signposted,” she replied.
“Are you sure?” I asked, feeling a small amount of paranoia settle into my brain. “Have you gone this way before?”
“Not from here, but they have good signs for their freeways.”
Her confidence was underwhelming, since she wasn’t responsible for getting us to the airport. I’d wanted to take my usual route for the 210 east to the 605 and then the 105. It’s longer, as we start by going in the wrong direction, but it’s easy. However, I’d been talked into driving into Pasadena instead, and picking up the start of the 110 that would take us past downtown Los Angeles and then onto the 105.
As I cruised along Colorado Boulevard, I wondered if it was the size of the place that made the road system so impersonal. The UK was the same when I was there — all the major roads were known by numbers. I’d gotten to know the M4 and M5 quite well at that time, but the only significant section that I knew by a name was spaghetti junction, and that was as a place to avoid in peak hour. In comparison, I can’t recall anyone in Australia, apart from in Sydney, referring to a road by a number. It was the Hume Highway, the Eastern Freeway, the Ring Road, or the South-Eastern Car Park — sorry, South-Eastern Arterial — never a number. Sydney is the only place I know of where they have major roads called by numbers, but they are all fairly recent, and I blame that on a lack of imagination. They managed to name one new road — the Eastern Distributor — but they also have the M4 and M5. I’m surprised some English tourist hasn’t managed to get confused, and found themselves heading to Birmingham by accident.
The conversation about toilets, heated or otherwise, was cut short when I spotted a gas station, to use the local terminology. It was even a brand that I was familiar with in Australia: Mobil. I had to top up the tank before I returned the rental car, and this seemed like a good time to do it, rather than trying to find one near the airport.
“I’m filling up here, guys, so I don’t have to do it later.”
“Good idea!” Karen said.
I pulled in cautiously, which is the only way I know how to drive unfamiliar cars on unfamiliar roads, in unfamiliar countries, and on the wrong side of the road. I was relieved to note that there wasn’t a lot of people there. I suspected this would take some time, as it had been several years since I’d last rented a car in the USA. I’d driven one of the other cars last time I was there, but I hadn’t been the one responsible for getting us back to the airport.
I stopped and then started to search for the fuel-cap release.
“Any ideas where the release is for the petrol-cap? I asked when I couldn’t find it.
“It should be down the side of the seat,” Trevor said. “You might have to get out to see it.”
“Okay,” I said. “Hopefully, the petrol cap is on your side, Trevor, or I might have to move the car.”
As I said, I suspected this might take some time.
I got out and had a good look around, but I couldn’t see anything.
“No need to worry, Graeme. It doesn’t need a release,” Trevor said from his side of the car.
I looked up to see him unscrewing the fuel cap.
“That’s good to hear,” I said as I walked around the car to join him.
I had a moment of worry when I got around and noticed that the nozzle looked like the LPG nozzles we have in Australia. Since this was clearly a petrol and not an LPG powered vehicle, I wondered if I was in the wrong spot. I breathed a sigh of relief when Trevor pulled the nozzle out of it’s holder and a normal spout was revealed. It was some sort of covering over most of the nozzle that had confused me.
He put the spout into the car and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. We looked at each other. He went back to the bowser.
“I think we need to put a credit card in first,” he said after squinting at a screen.
“Do you want to do it, or do you want me to do it?”
“You’d better do it. I don’t think I’ll be able to expense it as I’m not the one who’s hired the car.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
I pulled out my wallet and got out my corporate card. I put it into the slot provide and pulled it out again. “Invalid card” the screen read. I tried again. “Invalid card” I was told again.
“Try it around the other way,” Trevor suggested, peering over my shoulder.
“That was my next step,” I replied, as I turned the card around and tried again.
I smiled when the screen told me to remove the card, and indicated that the card was accepted. It then asked me to enter my zip code.
I looked at Trevor. “Zip code? What am I supposed to put in?”
He shrugged. “Don’t ask me.”
I thought for a moment about putting in 90210, which is the only zip code that I know off-by-heart. Not that I ever watched the show, but it was sufficiently popular that the name stuck in my mind. I’ve seen zip code lists as part of my job, so I knew I could probably just enter a random five digit number with a reasonable chance of getting one right, but that felt like fraud to me. I entered five zeros.
“Error. Please see operator,” the screen told me.
“I’ll be right back,” I told Trevor.
I headed over to the office and stood patiently behind the person being served. I wasn’t in any rush as we still had hours to get to the airport. When the previous person left, I stepped forward.
“The machine told me to come here,” I explained, holding out my American Express card. “We don’t have zip codes in Australia, so I didn’t know what to put in.”
He stared at me. I suspected he didn’t get that many Australians refueling at his gas station. It’s a long drive from Australia to Los Angeles. He took my card from me.
“Okay. How much do you want to buy?”
“I need to fill it up.”
He grunted then pushed a few buttons on his console. Frowning, he repeated his actions.
“Do you still have the pump on?”
“Yes. Do you want us to hang it up?”
“Hang it up, and then I can reset it. Wait until it’s reset before you try again.”
“Okay, thanks!” I said. I headed out, leaving my Amex card behind.
When I got back to the car, I pulled the nozzle out and hung it up.
“We need to wait until the pump has been reset,” I told Trevor.
A few minutes later the pump was going and the fuel was flowing. When it stopped, I hung up the pump, went back to the office, paid for the petrol, picked up my Amex card and returned to the car.
One challenge out of the way. Now I just needed to find my way through Pasadena to the 110. After successfully completing the gas station challenge, that should be a breeze.