This particular story doesn�t contain any references to meeting the band. Half the fun of these missions is simply the places you go, the people you meet, and the stories you take with you.
Planning our trip to Hartford and Boston in the fall of �95, Mike and I were both 20-years-old, and still would be when we needed to rent a car in October. The worst part about that age is the fact that you cannot rent a car, at least not at any reputable national car rental establishment. With the internet not yet a useful tool in travel planning, we headed off to the Waukesha, Wis. Public library to find a Boston phone book that would point us in the direction of a car rental agency that would rent to us.
After browsing the listings that featured the usual Hertz, Alamo, Avis, etc�, we decided to call the first one listed, �A Car Rental�. That�s exactly what we were looking for, a car rental.
I called the number, and should have been tipped off by the simple �Yeah� that greeted me on the other end instead of an �It�s a great day at �A� Car Rental, how can I help you?� First impressions are usually the best so we hung up and proceeded to call every listed Boston-area car rental place, not a single one of which rented to anyone under the age of 21.
Our options were quickly narrowed down to hitchhiking or taking a Greyhound bus between Hartford and Boston. As I digested that notion, I quickly remembered the one and only time I rode a Greyhound. For six hours, I endured the company of a drunken slob whose Meister Brau-induced state encouraged him to continuously show me naked pictures of his wife. Typically that would not be an issue for me, but the whale/hefer-like features of his wife sort of spoiled it. But I did learn how to use stolen phone cards to make illegal international long distance calls by a charming young man in the bus station.
Not willing to accept defeat and submit ourselves to these two unappealing options, we again called �A Car Rental.�
�Yeah?� the man answered.
We had found the only �car rental� place in greater Boston that rented to people of �any age� according to the man on the other end of the line. I assume he meant those over 16.
After making the reservation, he mentioned that he would need a $500 cash deposit and credit cards were not accepted.
Reluctantly, we confirmed the reservation and the man on the phone himself, �Eddie�, agreed to meet us at the airport in Boston to pick us up.
My flight was delayed a bit and upon arriving in Boston the airport was completely empty. It was after midnight and everything was closed down. It was still before cell phones were as common as they are today, so I couldn�t just call Mike or Eddie to check in with them. After walking around the airport I headed outside, and the first thing I saw was Mike loading his luggage into the back of an old beat-up Plymouth. I approached him and the guy next to him, Eddie.
After the introductions, Eddie told us to hop in the car. I assumed he was taking us to the car rental agency where we would pick up our loaner for the week. After getting on the freeway, he stopped for a toll and since the window didn�t roll down, he had to open the door to pay the attendant. He proceeded to open the door smack into a pole denting the driver�s side door. He didn�t seem to care about that, or the general upkeep of his automobile as it was filthy inside.
Eddie suggested a meeting time for the day we were scheduled to return the car and told us to meet him then at the same spot. He then said thanks, exited the vehicle and walked down the street
Initially we were a little concerned, but in the end there was Eddie in the same spot at the time he told us to meet him, our $500 cash deposit in hand. Not quite the five crisp Benjamins we originally laid on him, but enough 20�s, 10�s, 5�s, and singles to equal $500.
Thanks for Reading,
A.L./M.T.
