Front Porch: Car trouble forces extended stay at Houston minimart

The spicy pepperoni beef sticks were gone. So were the Corn Nuts. We pondered the teriyaki beef jerky beneath the sickly flicker of the florescent lights at the Break Time in Houston.

I paused to make an entry in my journal/reporter’s notebook.

Dear Diary, It’s been 25 minutes since my last entry. Rescue no longer looks promising. It appears our Houston vacation will end right here in a minimart, less than 10 miles from the airport.

We’d been planning this trip for months. When three of your kids are gainfully-employed adults, scheduling a family vacation gets complicated, but we’d done it. For the first time in years, the six of us would vacation together.

Our destination? Houston, where our second son has lived for the past 16 months. Our flights went smoothly and we landed right on time. Giddy with the thrill of arriving in Texas and looking forward to a dip in the hotel pool, we happily signed for our rental car.

“I thought my minivan days were behind me,” Derek said, slipping behind the wheel of shiny, red van.

But he grinned when he said it, anticipating the joys ahead.

The blinking yellow light gave him pause. The rental car attendant made a note of it, and we set off to navigate the fourth-largest city in the U.S.

We didn’t navigate far. A few miles down the beltway a dinging began to sound with the flashing yellow light. Then the light turned red.

“I’ve got to find a place to pull over!” Derek said.

Taking the next exit, we pulled into a convenience store parking lot. I whipped out my phone and called the 1-800 number on our rental car agreement, while Derek looked under the hood.

“There’s NO OIL in the car!” Derek said. “Unbelievable!”

Meanwhile, I was on hold. When a representative finally came on the line I explained the situation. “Your company sent us out in a car with no oil. We made it to a minimart and we need a new car ASAP.”

She put me on hold. Again. For 30 minutes.

We were hungry. We were tired. It was hot. It was humid. We wanted decent food and a nice swim.

“Forget this crap,” Derek said. “I’m putting oil in this car.”

Off he went to purchase the oil.

I didn’t go off. Yet. I was still on hold.

He returned and poured a quart of oil into the minivan, but it promptly dripped back out. Derek investigated and explained – loudly. Someone had not put the thingiebobby back in the whatsit. Well, that’s not an exact quote, but you get the idea. It also explained the trail of oil that led to where we sat.

Meanwhile, I was actually speaking with a company representative who explained she couldn’t authorize a new vehicle for us. We’d have to return to the airport to get one. “And how do you suggest the five of us get there?” I asked.

She put me on hold.

An hour had elapsed since we’d pulled over. The representative finally came back on the line.

“Ma’am? We’re sending out a tow truck. It can take one of your party back to the airport and maybe you can get another vehicle there.”

Maybe? MAYBE? I’m not sure what actually followed next. My kids said I went all “mom voice” on her. Apparently, when I’m extremely angry, I speak slowly and carefully enunciate each word in what Zack calls a “super scary, bone-chilling” tone.

It didn’t help.

Forty-five minutes later, a tow truck arrived and took my husband and the dead minivan away. The rest of us would just have to wait.

Dear Diary, Derek’s been gone for an hour. We’ve had no word. My phone battery is dying, but at least I posted a rental car rant on Facebook. Hopefully, my warning will spare some other hapless family from a similar ordeal.

Candy was purchased. I tried bonding with the clerk, but we were separated by a piece of what appeared to be bulletproof glass. Also, he didn’t speak much English, though his shrugs spoke volumes.

At the 2  1/2 hour mark, we decided to make a break for it. Ethan called up his Uber app. Alas; the driver couldn’t transport four people. I called AAA who offered to call us a cab, but then my phone buzzed. It was Derek. “Got an SUV. Leaving in 5.”

There was great rejoicing in the Break Time. I shared our news with the clerk. He shrugged. I’m sure it was a happy shrug.

Thirty minutes passed. No Derek.

Dear Diary, I do not want my last meal to be pepperoni sticks and Corn Nuts. I am eyeing the microwaveable burritos. My sons say they are desperate, but not that desperate. Am wondering how many packages of diapers I must buy to make myself a bed in the chip aisle.

By now we were getting loopy. Ethan pointed out a bottle of STP gas treatment. “Improves the quality of gas!” he read from the bottle.

Hysterical giggling ensued. The clerk behind the glass shrugged. I’m sure it was a humorous shrug.

Suddenly Sam shouted, “I see him! I see him! It’s Dad!”

And it was!

Minutes later we were consuming burgers in a fast food parking lot. We finally checked into the hotel at midnight.

The vacation that got off to a horrendous start got better every day. We did touristy things, ate fabulous non-fast-food meals, spent hours in a rental SUV that actually had oil in it, and added more memories to the family archive.

And if one of those memories includes a four-hour stay at Texas convenience store, well, at least we can laugh about it, now.