Why Budget Charged Me for the Damage Waiver

So one of the things I enjoy doing when I'm out of town is taking road trips in my rental cars. I have unlimited miles and often upgrade to the more exciting vehicles. On that note, though, if anyone from Budget Rent-a-Car is reading this, can you please, for the love of Christ, tell me why, when I upgrade to a premium car, you think that means I want something that screams "old" and "conservative?" In other words, why do you always insist on trying to rent me the Grand Marquis or Buick Lucerne after I've just walked past row upon row of more sporty, sexier choices? I mean, do I have a sign on me that reads, "this guy must want the fat, middle-aged, conservative car that..." wait. Nevermind. Anyway, road trips. In northern California, road trips are simple, relaxing, and fun. There seems to be no limit to the places one can roam once you get out of the hustle and bustle of the bay area. In southern California, this is much more difficult. First of all, everyone and their mother -and sometimes even someone else's mother - is on the road, making something so simple as going down the street for a gallon of milk a major trek. When going anywhere in L.A. there are three levels of time that apply:

• A quick jaunt. This is for trips of under an hour and would apply to such activities as checking the mail, walking to the bus stop, or starring in a show on the WB's fall lineup.
• A hearty adventure, meaning commutes to and from work, trying to get anywhere downtown, or perhaps starring in NBC's fall lineup. And finally,
• Packing a tent and hiring a Sherpa, because you're going to be gone a while.

Normally I shy away from the road trips when I'm in SoCal because I hate having spent two hours on the road and still not having reached the city limits. Last week was different. I heard Drew Barrymore was accepting applications for her next husband and I'd always had a thing for women with tattoos and brown eyes, so I ventured out, even though it meant traveling the ever-nightmarish 405. Still, I figured what the hell, when I lived in L.A. some years ago, Drew and I exchanged pleasantries and smiles while sharing a pump at a gas station in Malibu, so surely I've got a leg up right? Right? You can imagine my surprise when I hit the freeway en route to my next wedded bliss, my Sherpa, Lapka, resting a protective hand on my North Face tent, and found the southbound 405 completely deserted. It was just me and Lapka in my rented SUV, with a full tank of gas and a dream, venturing down the empty freeway toward my next true love. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would be a Rascal Flats song. Lapka can't sing, just so you know.

The point is, we'd found Nerdvanna: an empty freeway during Los Angeles rush hour. Here's why. Maybe some of you saw the news coverage. Oh, and as a side note: can you believe AA sent me a bill for $25 for being a checked bag?

*EDITOR'S NOTE: No I don't know why the sound didn't load with the video. Fuck it.

*EDITOR'S NOTE II: Ok, now the sound works. Clearly I'm either my computer's possessed or I'm being punked. Go figure.