Our Worst/Best Vacation Ever

The Summer of 2010 was by far the worst summer I ever had. While my friends were going to theme parks and other countries on the other side of the globe, I was stuck in a scorching hot, brown Dotson. The car was sputtering all the way from our home in Montana to Nevada. It was a miracle the car got us as far as it did. The air conditioning was shot, so we had to drive with the windows rolled down. The radio didn’t work, and neither did the CD player. My mom tried to get us to sing some songs acapella style, but she gave up after fifteen attempts. 

When we were a few hours into the trip, I complained that I was bored, which made my dad suggest that I just go to sleep. 

“Time will move faster if you do,” he said. 

The only problem was that the car’s engine kept me on high alert. I mentioned before that it had been sputtering, but that word doesn’t do it justice. When I said it was sputtering, I meant it sounded like it was about to die any second. Even my mom got worried a few times and asked my dad if we could stop by a service station to see what was wrong with it. 

“There ain’t nothing wrong with it,” he growled. “Just its personality is all.”

I rolled my eyes and my mom gave a heavy sigh. We both knew that, “personality,” was just his excuse for not tossing the thing years ago so he wouldn’t have to waste money on a new one. 

What made everything worse was that I had packed my DS, but forgotten to charge the battery. So until we reached someplace with a charge port, it sat untouched in its black case. The best I could do was look at the game cartridges and imagine how much fun I could have had if I wasn’t so forgetful. 

Even lunch was ruined with plain old cheese bologna sandwiches, bland potato chips, and warm cokes, instead of sizzling hot hamburgers, with salty fries and a cold Sprite. I guess my mom knew I’d complain, because before I said a word she told me they were trying to save money by not getting fast food. 

“Come on!” I wanted to scream at her, but I didn’t want to get a smack from dad. Every kid knew eating fast food was the best part of any vacation. It was the one time of year where you could eat whatever you wanted for two weeks straight. 

So, I bet you’re wondering what we were doing in the middle of the Nevada desert anyhow. Well, my parents wanted to see the Grand Canyon. I have no idea why. They said it was an important landmark, but what makes it so important? Does it have a theme park? Does the president live there? Does it contain evidence of extraterrestrial visitors? They said, “No,” to all of my questions. They said it was important because it would help me, “appreciate nature” or “get me inspired,” or some crap like that.

It was only a matter of time before the car broke down and, just our luck, it broke down at the worst time imaginable. We all heard it dying, but my dad insisted that everything was fine. 

“I think we should pull over,” my mom suggested, but my dad assured us that our hotel was only a few more miles away. The car wasn’t sputtering this time around, it was jerking, it was coughing and I hated every second. 

My dad was so anxious that his nails dug into the steering wheel. The gaps of silence between sputters grew longer, and smoke was rising out of the trembling hood.

“Come on baby,” he muttered. “We’re almost there. Just a few more miles…”

But nothing he said made a difference. A few minutes later the car gave out its last cough, and we slid to the side of the road. None of us said a word, but we all knew that the car was never going to start ever again. This didn’t stop my dad from turning the keys into the ignition. Nothing happened no matter how hard he tried. 

My dad slammed the wheel and cursed for a few seconds before going completely silent. My mom and I were too scared to speak up. We learned from experience never to talk to him when he got this angry. He’d snap like a dog, saying the crudest and meanest things you’d ever hear. 

Finally, once his breathing slowed down my mom got out her cell phone and dialed Triple-A. Little did she know that the simple action would cause a nightmare of an argument. My dad insisted that I could push the car to the hotel, while my mom was against it. 

“He’s going to die in this heat, Gerald!” she said. “Besides how far is this hotel anyway.” 

“Not far,” he claimed without elaborating any further. My mom begged him for an exact number but he refused to say. Either he didn’t know, or he was ashamed to admit that we were nowhere near the hotel. 

When it was clear that their arguing was going nowhere, my mom unlocked her door, pushed it open, and stormed outside. Meanwhile, my dad grumbled to himself, first punching the dashboard and then scratching the leather off the wheel. I sunk down into my seat and kept my mouth zipped shut. There was no point in getting his attention. 

I heard my mom dial some numbers on her phone, and when I looked out the window I saw her holding it to her ear. I heard her voice as she talked with the person on the other end, but I didn’t care enough to listen. 

Once my mom was done talking to the person on the phone, she took her seat back into the car. 

“They’ll be here in two hours,” she sighed. 

I rolled my eyes. Being stuck in a car was bad enough, but being stuck in a nonmoving car was even worse. 

My mom got us some warm cokes to keep us hydrated, but I couldn’t stand even one sip. It was like drinking pure lava. If I drank the whole thing my throat would have disintegrated into nothing.  

Going to sleep was out of the question, actually doing anything was out of the question. We were trapped, and there was nothing we could do to escape. All we could do was wait and hope that the tow truck would arrive. 

The sky turned a dark orange, and I could hear the faint sound of locusts when we could make out orange flashing lights in the distance. The tow truck had arrived at last! The wave of relief made us forget that we had bigger problems to worry about. You see, COVID didn’t exist back then, so we were all squished in the tiny passenger seat inside the tow truck. My dad sat next to the driver, my mom was up against the window, while I was squished in the middle. Even with my legs together, there still wasn’t enough space for any of us to feel comfortable. 

My dad told the driver to drop the car off at the nearest mechanic shop. 

“The closest one closes at 7 and it's 7:15,” said the driver, but my dad didn't care. 

“They can work on it tomorrow can’t they?” he asked. 

“Whatever you say, sir,” the driver mumbled. The guy looked tired. He had blonde hair that scraped his ears, stubble on his chin, and his eyes had a thousand-mile stare. Every so now again, I’d see his head nodding down only for him to jerk it back up within seconds. 

Ah, great! I thought. If the heat didn't kill us then our half-asleep driver certainly would.

By some miracle, we reached the mechanic shop safely. The driver dropped the car off in a parking space, we took a moment to gather our luggage, which made the tight space in the truck even tighter, and we were on our way to the hotel. My dad was going to tell the driver the address, but he recognized the hotel just by name. I felt so happy that this terrible day would be over, and I’d get to spend the night in a soft bed, in a cool air-conditioned room, and I’d be able to charge my DS to full power. 

I’m pretty sure it was a Red Roof, or a hotel chain similar to Red Roof. The neon sign was a red house with the name in white. The fluorescent lamps made the red walls black and the gray cement a cool blue. 

We got our stuff out of the truck, and my folks thanked the driver for his help. He waved to us and said, “Don’t mention it,” and took off, never to be seen again. 

My dad was first through the door, and he walked with a confident swagger up to the front desk. He gave the desk clerk the name of the reservation, and she typed on the keyboard with her long red fingernails. No joke, those things were ridiculously long. She could poke someone’s eye out with those things. 

She stared at the screen for a minute or two before giving us the bad news. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I can’t find any reservation under that name.” 

My dad’s eyebrows shot up, while my mom stood frozen with shock. 

“That’s impossible!” my dad sputtered. “Check under Gerald Richardson.”

The lady typed in a few words, blinked, looked back at my dad, and told him again that she couldn’t find the reservation. 

“There must be a mistake!” my dad said, slamming his hand on the desk. “I made the reservation with the young lady a few days ago.” 

(My dad was still the generation that did everything through the phone and not online.)

The lady at the desk tried to make him understand, but my dad wasn’t having it. I walked away to sit down on one of the sofa seats. There was no way I wanted anyone to know that I was related to that man. My mom continued to stand behind him, but she had a disappointed frown on her face. 

It got so bad that the lady had to get her manager, who basically repeated the same thing. I had a feeling we wouldn’t be sleeping at that hotel for the night, and I was right. My dad wasn’t content with purchasing another room, he wanted the room he had reserved. 

They came to a standstill. Frustrated and in fumes, my dad stormed off saying he would take his business elsewhere. He yelled at me and my mom to follow him out. I thought the yelling was unnecessary, but I wasn’t going to say that to his face. 

“Now what, Gerald?” my mom asked as soon as we stepped outside. I was surprised she didn’t reprimand him for messing up the reservation and getting mad at the staff, but I guess she was too tired to get mad. 

I thought the solution was simple. Just go to another hotel. After all, there was a Days Inn right across the street. Turns out it wasn’t that easy. We were already traveling on a strict budget, which was obliterated by the car breaking down. Kind of made me wonder why we were traveling in the first place. 

This information led my mother back to her original question. 

“What are we going to do, Gerald?” 

My dad tugged at both ends of his black hair, walked out, made some angry noises, and then came back completely subdued. I had no idea whether he had a fit of rage or a brief psychotic breakdown. 

“We’ll have to sleep in the car,” he said.

My mom gave a little grunt but didn’t complain. I on the other hand was taking a few minutes to process what my dad just said. 

“Wait…” I said. “You said we’re going to have to sleep in the car?” 

My dad looked at me with seething eyes, immediately filling me with regret. 

“Afraid, so honey,” my mom said.  

“But how are we going to get there?” I asked, thinking it was a fair question. After all, the mechanic’s place was far away from the hotel, and I didn’t have the energy to walk all the way there.  

I don’t know what phone number my dad called, but a taxi showed up right at the hotel a few minutes later. I was surprised because I thought taxis were only for cities, not for out-of-the-way places in the middle of nowhere. 

We threw our luggage in the trunk.

The cab driver wasn’t as nice as the tow truck driver. He never talked, and he had an angry glare. It’s like he wasn’t even human, it was like he was a robot. Even when my dad wanted to start a conversation with the guy, the man stayed silent.

In a few minutes, we were back at the mechanic’s, and we shoved everything back in the car.  

I slept on the back seat, while my mom and dad sat in the front with their seats set back. This was not how I pictured spending my vacation, sleeping in a car in a parking lot. I thought sleeping in cars was something poor people did. That’s when I had the terrifying realization that we were poor. True we weren’t homeless or begging on the streets, but normal families don’t sleep in their cars, or eat sandwiches instead of going out to eat.  

It was a little scary sleeping in the parking lot that night. I was afraid a killer was going to break in and murder us in our sleep, or the cops would have us under arrest for trespassing. I don’t know how I was able to fall asleep, but somehow I did. 

I closed my eyes for one second and it was morning. The sun was out, and the car was already warming up. I looked around and saw my mom in the passenger seat, resting her head on her hand. 

My dad was nowhere to be seen, but my mom told me he was talking to the people inside. Sure enough, my dad returned to the car and tapped on the window. 

“Alright, get out. They're going to start working on the car,” he said. 

My mind went crazy. I wanted to ask him what we were supposed to do while we waited, but my mom beat me to it. 

“We’ll see the local scenery,” he explained as if he was saying we were going to the park or a petting zoo. 

“You can’t be serious,” my mom gasped. 

“Hey, we’re on vacation to see new sights, and there are plenty of new sights here,” he explained. He had us there, the sights were different than the type in Minnesota, but the sights in question weren’t too impressive. There was absolutely nothing about the landscape that stood out. There were a few cliffs, a cactus here and there, and maybe an interesting-looking rock or two. 

It wasn’t much, but we really didn’t have a choice. What else were we supposed to do? 

My mom grabbed the bag of drinks out of the car and we were off to the sights, or lack thereof. 

At that point, we were trying to make the best of a terrible situation. I know that sounds bad, but again our options were limited. 

Now it wasn’t all bad. I got to see a salamander, which was pretty cool. In a way, it was like we were going on an adventure. I imagined that I was an archaeologist looking for ancient treasures in the desert. Believe it or not, I was actually having fun. I examined rocks, and I was even digging through the dirt. My mom had stopped me before my hands got too dirty and had me clean them with sanitizer wipes. 

We got some nice family photos into the mix and we actually ate out for once. It was a small diner with a tin roof. We had cheeseburgers, and let me tell you that those were the meatiest patties I ever had. I mean the meat was about as thick as my thumb. It was so good that they were better than McDonald’s. 

I wondered why my parents were spending so much on food. When I asked them they said it was because we were going home once the car was fixed. My mom said she was sorry we weren't going to see to the Grand Canyon, but I said it was relieved. I didn’t want to see a stupid canyon anyway. 

So, even though it wasn’t the best vacation ever, I didn’t go to Disney World or across the globe, I still had a good time. That’s why we called it Our Worst/Best Vacation Ever.