Missing: Your Rental Car

“Ma’am, you’re still waiting for your car to be brought around?”

It had been 15 minutes since the hotel valet took my tag number & went to get the rental car & I was beginning to get annoyed. “Yes, still waiting for the car.”

10 minutes later, a now frantic search was underway for our car keys. While two valets searched (& searched & searched) others continued to park cars, the small drop off area of the hotel packed with spring break guests checking in & little girls in frilly dresses, there to celebrate a quinceanera.

“Is that your car?,” the valet asked pointing at a silver Ford Fusion. “Because that’s the car we brought around for you, but the claim tag number doesn’t match.”

No, I confirmed, it’s not. Mine is was dark gray Ford Fusion – the exact same car, just a different color. The valet asked if I was confused, insisting that maybe it really was my car, so I challenged him to open the trunk, where I had three boxes full of materials for a work presentation & a winter coat, tossed in & unseen since the airport. Sure enough, the trunk was empty.

After personally going to search the parking lot with the head valet, we all came to the same conclusion: our keys, & our rental car, weren’t there. I asked to speak with the manager of the hotel, staying remarkably calm, but feeling the knot in my stomach growing. My mind raced as the valet went to get the manager & explained what had happened.

‘What if they can’t find the car?’

‘What happens if you don’t return a rental car?’

‘Surely they just gave someone the wrong car – perhaps the owner of the other Ford Fusion. What if the get in an accident in my car? What if they’re driving to Miami & don’t get back for hours?’

‘I have to give a presentation tomorrow & everything is in that car.’

‘What if the car is gone?’

The manager, Omar, said they were investigating the situation & would we like a ride to wherever we were headed. I nearly exploded: “I’m not leaving the hotel unless it’s in my rental car. Besides, do you really think I’m interested in eating dinner right now?”Omar invited us to dinner at the hotel’s sushi restaurant, to which B happily agreed – he was worried about the car, but also hungry. We were led into the restaurant, where Omar let the waiter know dinner was on the house tonight. We were led to a table at the far side of the restaurant. I don’t really even remember the next 15 minutes or so. Menus went untouched, as the poor waiter offered drinks, appetizers, anything. When I said I just wanted to leave & go back to the room, B calmly suggested that we just stay there & sip some water.

After no update on the situation, I went back to the front desk to find out what was going on.

“Good news,” Omar said. “We determined that we gave your car to the wrong person, but we think we know who that person is – the couple just checked in a few hours ago & valet parked a different Ford Fusion. We’re trying to call them now.”
Only slightly placated, I went back to the restaurant & updated B on the situation. My mind was still racing: what if they were driving far away? What if they trash the car? What if some crazy South Florida driver hits them? What if they don’t answer their phone?

After I few minutes, I inquired again on how things were going.

“Could you send them a text message?,” I asked. Omar pulled out his phone & texted them.

“Could you try to call again while I’m standing here?” Omar agreed & I listened as the phone rang on speaker phone.

“Hello?” asked a male voice on the other line. Omar picked up the phone & I could only hear one side of the conversation: This is Omar from the B Ocean Hotel. We think we gave you the wrong rental car. A gray Ford Fusion. No, a different one. Can you look in the trunk? Where are you? The Galleria Mall? At the Apple store? Stay there, I’m coming.

Omar hung up the phone & told me they were just down the street at the Apple store. He was going there & taking there car & bringing back the car they were driving. Hopefully it was mine.

Only slightly releaved, I went back to the restaurant & told the waiter that I would now take a beer. If they found my car, I could relax a bit & if this was not my car, I was definitely going to need a drink. Some time later (who knows how long, time tends to stand still in these situations), I was on my way back from the ladies room when someone at the front desk stopped me. “They found your car, Mrs. Saull. It’s on it’s way back.”

For the first time in 90 minutes, my blood pressure dropped a little & my defense mechanisms went down. I walked back into the restaurant & declared to the waiter: it’s time for sushi. We were just finishing up our giant lobster rolls when Omar came back in, keys in hand. It was indeed our car, boxes & coat still in the trunk. He would personally handle parking it in a reserved VIP spot in front of the hotel.

***

The whole situation was one of the most bizarre things that have ever happened to me while traveling. For our troubles, the hotel compensated us with dinner & drinks that evening & did not charge us the fee for parking. I was a little disappointed that we weren’t comp’d a night on our bill, but should we have been? In the end, the car was returned unharmed & life moved on. But what about those 90 minutes of worry like I’ve never felt before? What about the irresponsibility of the valet for putting us in this situation in the first place? The host at the restaurant told B he thought it was an honest mistake (luckily, I wasn’t there to hear the comment), but is it? The valet’s job – especially at a place like a hotel where the only parking option is valet – to collect & return your car safely. Bad luck abounded on this trip, & the car mix up is one of many unfortunate things that happened (we’ll call it the most unfortunate). I’m not even sure what the moral of the story is: don’t trust a valet? Don’t stay at a hotel with no self parking? Be more aware of what your rental car looks like?

****

After finishing a second beer & dessert, we went out to see the car for ourselves. There, parked next to a Mercedes & a Porsche, was my little American made car. I took the keys from the valet (who never once apologized, merely kept saying he didn’t understand how it happened), & popped the trunk. The moment of truth.

Three boxes & B’s winter coat.

I laughed & finally relaxed, handing my keys back to the valet & making him swear it would still be there in the morning. He held up his pinky & gave me a pinky swear. He lived up to his promise.

What do you think? Were we fairly compensated? Would you stay at the hotel again?