Hawaii - Day Three

The Day of our Hit-and-Run.

But first -

Picture it, Oahu, December 6th, 2005. Two tan and lovely California girls (well, one made in America by Philippine materials) are set loose in Waikiki ...

My friend and I have been eating like little piglets. For example, here is my most FAVORITE pie in the whole wide world. You can get it at Duke's:
(It's got a dark chocolate crunchy crust, macadamia nut ice cream, rich fudge sauce, macadamia nuts and whipped cream. Girrrrrls, I told you I can eat!)

We feel especially guilty because we usually go to our Yoga Challenge class 2x a week. We decide to do something tourist-y but healthy. We wake up at 6:30am (progress, my friends!) get ready and start our hike up Diamond Head at 7:30am.
(Here's Diamond Head from Waikiki beach)It takes about 45 minutes. We are a little bit sweaty and dusty but are rewarded with some awesome views:


We feel great! We feel like we've accomplished something no one has done before. (Never mind the huge Japanese tour group we passed as well as the couple with the baby and the elderly gentleman.) We are damn triatheletes! How do we celebrate?

We go shopping at Walmart. Yes, it's a horrible monopoly that exploits its workers but there is no Target on the island (I KNOW! And to think this is supposed to be a tropical paradise!) We go buck wild in the Aloha section and buy all our souvenirs and stuff for ourselves. "What a steal!" we say. Armed with bags of goodies to bring back to the mainland, we cheerfully walk back to our car. We load the trunk, slam it shut and I'm about to get into the passenger seat when I hear Maria say, "Ummm, Lulu, can you come here for a minute?" I start walking back to the trunk while she's asking, "Do you remember this being here?"
F*ck, f*ck and FUCK. (Now, you know I usually tone my cursing down on my blog but, let's face it, we are F*CKED.)
Remember, this is a rental car, we are in a different state and we had no idea who hit our car. I'm racking my brain, trying to remember if this dent was already there but, to my dismay, I think I would have noticed it. Maria asks, "What should we do? Should we report it or tell them when we turn it in?" Knowing how bad rental places screw you to your face with taxes and additional fees, I did not want to be royally screwed in any way for this so I say we should report it.

Heaven bless the people at the Honolulu Walmart - the security are kind folk but can you believe none of them knew the non-emergency number to the Honolulu Police Department?? After 15 minutes of futzing around (remember, we are CA girls so we like things done fast,) Maria calls 411 on her cell phone and we get the number ourselves. A half an hour later, the police arrive. We've got Walmart security AND the Honolulu Police doing separate reports. Maria is calling her insurance b/c the rental car is under her name and I'm talking to the rental car agency filing a report with them.
We are now well into our second hour of dealing with this hit-and-run fiasco. I'm pretty proud of ourselves because we could have been totally girlie and cried because who KNOWS what will happen to our insurance, this is supposed to be a relaxing vacation and really, this situation just bites. The cops are very nice, helping us get phone numbers and their dispatcher is making some calls to help this go faster. The nice woman cop, while initially stern looking, is quite friendly and lived in Santa Clara, CA for a while. I'm making conversation with the man cop, asking him about his tazer. [Side note: There was a lot of time being on hold or waiting for someone to finish a phone call to answer a question on another. So I ask man cop about his tazer and he says that Honolulu police are in the process of making tazers stronger. I tell him about the scandal here in the Bay Area because people are dying from them. I then ask how could Honolulu want to make them stronger? He eyeballs me and says, "The people here are a lot bigger. The tazer feels like a bee sting and if anything, makes them even more angry." Good point.] Woman cop is inspecting the dent for a third time, bending low and flashing her light. She tells man cop to take a look again and says, "Hey, do you see these circles?"
(Maybe you know what's coming but just read anyway.)
Maria and I innocently look over their shoulders and wonder about this new development. Woman cop asks, "Ladies, did you do a walk through with your rental agency?" Come to think of it, we didn't. And since this is the second car I've rented, I never questioned this. Maria shrugs her shoulders. Man cop walks to the car and asks his dispatcher to connect him to our rental agency. Woman cop kindly explains, "Well, see these clear circle stickers?" We nod. "A lot of rental agencies don't fix a car if it's just cosmetic damage. They do put these stickers, though, so they know what damage already exists." Our jaws drop. Shut the f*ck up ... did this really exist? Man cop gets off his CB radio. "Yup, the agency just confirmed that this dent was already there."

We are MODED. We are so incredibly moded we don't know what to do with ourselves. Are your cheeks red from reading this? Because what you are feeling is sympathetic modedness. F*ck, we are moded.

Maria looks at me with shame. We both look at the cops with shame. They are so nice and joke with us that they are hungry and late for lunch. We apologize profusely, just freakin' ashamed of ourselves. They tell us to have a good vacation as they drive off and we climb into our Focus. Maria says, "I'm so glad that you take partial fault for this because I feel so dumb!" and I tell her that I am as much to blame because I went along and agreed with her that we had been hit. We then have to call her insurance and the car rental agency.

We are hungry but even more so, moded. We agree that we cannot talk anymore about this until we have had a drink. We park poor Focus and walk to the Royal Hawaiian outdoor bar and proceed to get drunk. We then laugh our asses off because this trip just seems plagued with drama! But on the upside, we are so happy that we will not be punished by Hertz or our insurance agencies. We lay out on the beach and soak up some rays. And while we are STILL moded, we are in a beautiful place and, thanks be, liquored up to numb our embarrassment.

Be kind, people! I just shared with you a huge "dumb a$$" moment and am feeling quite vulnerable. And don't even pretend you haven't had one yourself! Obviously, I feel defensive, too. If I start categories, I will file this under "Super moded."