Car Rental

Earlier in the week, I flew into Maine and picked up a rental car at the airport. My own car is 12 years old and this SUV was big and new – no key, that sort of thing. Long story short, I couldn’t start it. Even the manual skipped the basic part about starting and went to the fancy stuff about spare tires.

Across the garage, a young woman (younger than me, but you are thinking 'other than our members of Congress, everyone is younger than she is') was getting into her car. I ran over and asked her to help.

She followed me and asked plaintively in a mildly Southern accent, “This isn’t some sex trafficking scheme, is it?”

I was focused on the car so I said, “I used to head up the Midwest Sex Trafficking Mafia, but I’m retired.”

She said, “Oh,” followed me to the car, got in and showed me how to start it.

Here is the quiz. What is the baddest element in this story?

1.       I lied to this young women. I was really only second in command of Midwest Sex Trafficking.

2.       I should have known how to start a car.

3.       She worried about being harmed and still followed a stranger into a car.

4.       I should have waited for a man who would have been terrifically pleased to show me how stupid I am.

You all got As. There is no right answer. It’s the morning Rorschach Test for keeping the mind sharp for those of you who already finished Wordle, Strands and Connections.