Beware the sly fox

We're impressed with Atlanta city transportation. While we were there we used the metro, the buses, the trolleys and the Skytrain and found them all efficient and clean and the city attendants outstandingly helpful. Once they knew we were not locals, and they picked that immediately, many gave us mini-guided tours as we rode along with them, pointing out landmarks and highlights they were proud of in their city. One fellow who gave us directions at a trolley stop genuinely felt he should tag along with us and guide us for the afternoon, given we were so new to his city. He would have just interrupted his plans for the day as quickly as that, for perfect strangers. We were really touched. But declined. We always manage. And like to do it that way. 

On our last morning we took the MARTA back to the airport, caught the Skytrain to the Rental Car Centre to begin the driving part of our trip around the Deep South states. We had booked a car, online, with Alamo, months ago, then promptly forgot all the details of the booking until we arrived at the service desk at the airport, and the attendant did what hire car attendants are meant to do and flipped open an image of the car we had contracted to hire.

The graphic was the size of a tiny two door Smart Car. It would barely have fit our luggage. With just that graphic -- and a great gasp of horror when he pointed out that we were so tall! and we would be driving for seven weeks in a one man mini jam tin however would we fit! -- Pete fell for the scare tactic and was just about to agree to upgrade our booking - many upgrades, actually as the fellow had him seriously sweating -- when I stepped in, leaning over the counter and interrupted, as I tend to do at times like this. 

I asked to view an actual car of the size we had booked. We had done our research at the time of our online booking, I said. We had satisfied ourselves then that our booking would suit our needs, I said. And on and on, it went. (Meanwhile Pete takes up his attitude of silent glowering at times like these.)

Off-put and distracted, the fellow waved us out a nearby door into a great concrete cavern filled with Alamo cars waiting to be driven away. Here, another attendant directed us to a line of cars in the range we had selected. Not one was similar to the image we'd been shown. Some were huge. Some were medium sized. Some were small. We assumed they had been parked wrongly and searched only among the smallest ones. There were three of these. Not one was the size of a jam tin. Not one was a problem for us. 

Back inside we informed the salesman that we were happy with our size choice and needed no upgrade. He then tried to hard sell us anything and everything from Death Insurance to Collision Damage to Excess Waiver to Roadside Assist. We needed nothing. We had everything covered. This Pete suddenly remembered so the glowering stopped.

The poor fellow had spent considerable time, effort and energy on us, but ended up selling us nothing, as in the end we refused all the extras. So, no commission from us will go into his purse at the end of today. I felt a bit sorry for him, actually.

When we went back to select a car of our choice another attendant took us out to the line of vehicles. She offered us anything in the line where we had assumed that the large and middle sized vehicles had been wrongly parked. They weren't. They, too, were available for us in our price range, so we ended up choosing one that looked more like an SUV than even a family car. It swallowed up our luggage in the huge trunk, and had three lines of seating all up, similar to our Honda Odyssey at home. 

So, we ended up in a Town and Country, with more gadgets than we know how to operate, including a rear camera which we have, now, become used to. Solid. Comfortable. Huge. Some jam tin for the next seven weeks. We are chuffed.

Our hire car