Apparently Like Me

Apparently Like Me

            Many people claim that this is the worst vacation story they have ever heard.  The rest say it seems like a very interesting vacation, but they would never want to experience it themselves.  In short, the vacation itself was unforgettable.  However, it is not as simple as the vacation being bad or good.

            Winter break, 2003.  I was excited.  Very excited.  Not everyday a family travels to San Diego for Christmas and not every Minnesotan family has the prospect of being in a hot tub on Christmas Day.  I had been waiting for this trip for a long while, anxiously counting down the school days until the trip date.  I guess counting down the days might seem like an activity for a middle schooler, but I could not help myself.  This trip would not only put me the farthest west I had ever been, but it would also be the first commercial flight in my life.

            The final days of the countdown crept slowly by, until the final school bell rang and I was free for an entire two weeks.  Life was sweet.

            My family had everything packed the night before the trip.  I remember being exhausted.  That night I slept restlessly.  I was too nervous and excited for sound sleep.

            Before setting off that morning, my breakfast of toast and eggs were especially delicious.  Not that my father had changed his methods for making them, but because the anticipation of my morning flight made my mood beyond happy.  I could have eaten anything and it would have tasted five times better.

            All packed into the car, my family set off for the airport.  I had never been through airport security before, and I was especially interested to see America’s heightened security in action.  I remember that on the day of our trip, the terror alert level for the United States was set to a blazing orange.  This meant random security checks and more security guards on staff.  Thankfully, only after an hour or so, my family was on the other side of the metal detectors.  We were lucky not to be inconvenienced by any sort of random inspection.  With our carry-on luggage in hand, we headed for our flight terminal.

            The flight itself was, in one word, fantastic.  It felt like a rollercoaster ride on the clouds.  There was little turbulence and the sinking feeling of ascending altitude was exhilarating.  Passing over house, road, and river was something I had only experienced once before.  I had taken a trip in a C-130 military cargo plane for Engineering Explorers.  Riding the military plane was certainly interesting, but it did not compare to the comfort of the commercial jet.  My father had described a plane ride as taking a trip in your own living room.  I agree with his description.

            However, things took a slight turn to the uncomfortable.  I shall say that landing in San Diego is certainly a rush.  The airport’s landing strip is located at the bottom of a valley and the approach the plane is forced to make is ludicrous.  Since the airport is in downtown and the way the airstrip was constructed, the plane literally flies only several tens of feet above city buildings.  Any pilot error would skim the landing gear on a building top.  Descending into San Diego was a terrifying experience.  Watching the building tops fly by at an incredible speed while slowly coming down on top of them made me grip my armrests until my knuckles hurt.

            Obviously, our plane landed with no problems, but my discomfort was palpable.  However, it only moved from the air onto the ground.  Inside the terminal, others spoke around me as people do.  A clear distinction came to my mind when I listened to my family talk and then listened to the people around me talk.  Every member of my family, including myself, had a distinct Minnesotan accent.  I had never thought about my accent before until I stepped into that terminal.

            Several accounts came about involving our accents.  The first incident came when my family stepped onto a public bus.  The bus driver asked where we were headed and we told him the car rental dealership.  The bus driver smiled and asked us if we were from out of town.

            “Yes, we’re from up north.  From Minn-e-soo-da,” my mom said, emphasizing her accent.

            I just shook my head in embarrassment.

            “Thought so,” the bus driver said, smiling again and closing the bus door and putting his foot down on the gas.

            Another incident came when we arrived at the car dealership.  The manager made comment on our accents, which made my mom laugh and my face redden.

            Looking back, his comment on our accent was the smallest of worries caused by the car dealership.  The worst of my uncertainties came when we received our car.  The car was a white Saturn, and it had a very odd problem.  I noticed the problem when I examined the car to make up my mind on what I thought about it.  On the license plate, I found that the car had expired tabs.

            “Dad, I think this car has expired tabs,” I announced as we packed our bags into the trunk.

            My dad kneeled down to look at the license plate and quickly stood back up.  “Eh, they’re fine, Nick.  Don’t need to worry.”

            “Okay,” I merely replied, not really pushing the matter further.  Now I know I should have.

            My family’s trip to the San Diego zoo brought up the car’s tabs again.

            We went to the legendary zoo on our second day in San Diego and we were all very excited to attend.  The zoo had recently received or, just as likely, always had a pair of pandas from China and my family was lucky enough to have an opportunity to see them.  We took our sweet time seeing them, though.  Traveling around the zoo was interesting, but nothing that special.  The zoo reminded me of the Minnesota zoo, expect the inside of San Diego zoo was built on a series of hills.  Basically, that was the only difference.  The Minnesota zoo was flat.  The San Diego zoo was not.  Despite the similarities, the Minnesota zoo did not have pandas, so my family finally stood in the line to see them.  We moved slowly forward until finally we saw the pandas.  They were beautiful, though not particularly active.  Although the pandas slept, seeing them to me made the whole trip to San Diego worthwhile.

            With the panda sightseeing over, we left the zoo to explore other ventures.  However, the car’s tab problem waited for us in the parking lot.  As my family walked up to our white Saturn, we noticed a small new addition to the car.  A piece of paper now flapped from underneath the window wiper.  My dad grabbed the paper and examined it.

            “It’s a parking ticket!”  My dad exclaimed.  “But, we parked correctly.  We paid the zoo’s parking fee!  I’m going to find a parking officer.”

            After my dad left, he found an officer and asked him why we came back to a ticket on our car.  The officer explained that our tabs were expired.  Apparently, he was not a zoo security guard, but actually a public officer.

            My dad walked back to the car.  We were waiting for him inside the car.  He opened up the door, sat inside, and looked at me.  “You were right, Nick.  The tabs were expired.”

            I only laughed.

            Luckily, the car rental dealership later paid the fine and apologized for any inconvenience.  I felt the ticket was not an inconvenience.  I was more annoyed by the fact that my family had not listened to me in the first place.

            The car did not give us any more trouble from then on out, except for us leaving the high beams on for hours driving around in the city.  Otherwise, it worked fine to move my family from San Diego to a few miles out of the city to our resort.  Built within the suburbs, the resort was cozy with a fantastic view.  The surrounding area of the resort was large hills and rock formations.  What made the view even more spectacular was the lack of living vegetation on the hillsides.  Trees, brushes, and shrubs were all burned away in a huge forest fire that ravaged a large portion of California a few weeks back.  The blackened hills were a sight to be seen and my family took many pictures.  Too many pictures, actually.  One charred hill looks exactly like all the others.

            As much as the resort was beautiful outside, the inside was nicely furnished.  There was a navy blue couch with a loveseat and a single chair at each couch end.  The carpet was a darker blue and gave the room a relaxing color and atmosphere.  A sliding glass window led out to a patio.  A dining table stood right in front of the sliding door, nearly blocking its use.  There were two huge bedrooms, in which a queen size bed occupied about half the floor space.  The kitchen was well stocked with dishes and there was even a bar area with bar stools.  The resort was a very adequate accommodation, but we nearly spent any time there, except at night.

            However, my father stumbled across a completely unexpected sight when we were relaxing in the resort.  My family had known about how close the fires had reached, so when my father was out for a morning jog, he brought along his camera.  During this job, he ran across something completely unexpected.

            My father walked back into our resort room with an exasperated look on his face.  My mother asked him what was wrong, so he looked at us and smiled.  “Wanna see something interesting I saw on my run?”

            “Sure,” my sister said, standing up from a chair and walking over up to him.

            My father turned the camera on and my sister looked at the preview screen.

            “You’re kidding!”  My sister exclaimed, smiling.

            “What is it?”  My mom and I asked in unison.

            “Well, come over here,” my dad said.

            We obliged.  My mom and I looked at the preview screen.  A turkey stood in the middle of the road, looking right into the camera.

            “Never seen a wild turkey in the suburbs before,” my dad said.

            We all had a good laugh at my dad’s bird.

            Later that week, on Christmas Day, my family hot tubbed together.  During that time, I called my girlfriend.  She was still stuck in Minnesota’s cold weather and I bragged about being in the warm air and an even warmer pool.  I also told her about all the fun sights we had seen, the crazy bird my father had taken a picture of, and all the interesting mishaps my family had run into during the vacation.  I remember smiling as my girlfriend laughed at my experiences.

            Many people say this would be a terrible vacation to experience.  That my family traveled to San Diego to visit a similar zoo and receive a parking ticket.  I have to disagree who claim that.  This is the best vacation I have ever had, or ever will have.  My girlfriend says she is not surprised when I say this is the best vacation ever.

            “That’s so like you,” she always says.

            She is right.  I look back at my San Diego vacation and smile.  This vacation allowed my family to become closer to one another.  That closeness is something you cannot find just anywhere, and I treasure the vacation because of that.

            My mom, my dad, my sister, and I all have a story to tell about when we went to San Diego.  When we share to others our experiences during that trip, we have huge smiles on our faces.  Not every family has such a unique trip together; a trip we can all look back at and laugh.  My trip to San Diego was the best vacation ever, and not because of the sights or fun of being in another part of the country.  The trip bought my family closer together and we will never forget the events during that trip.

            When I tell my girlfriend this—what I have just said—she smiles and always says the same thing.

            “That’s so like you.”

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