So, pretty much ever since they came out I've had an odd fascination with the LR3 V6. It's the same motor as an Explorer; how bad can it be? Why would someone buy a complicated BMW V8 when you can have a simple, tough(?) Ford V6? Plus I've always liked that motor when I've driven it in various Explorers/Rangers/Aerostars/etc.
So feel free to shatter the illusion (or not). What's the V6 really like to live with/keep alive? Is the V8 indeed better?
Haven’t rented from National for a while because our company contract switched to Avis; but now since I got status matched to Executive I decided it was time to come back to National.
Previously I would just book Midsize and pick a car off of the Emerald Aisle, but this time, for whatever reason Standard SUV was cheaper than regular Midsize. If I book that instead of Midsize can I still pick a car out of the Executive section if I see something there that suits my fancy?
DISCLAIMER: As those of you who have read some of my contributions to this sub know, I go to pretty thorough lengths to protect the identities of individuals and locations in any given Tale. This story probably will not be quite as entertaining without some details that would give the location away; but we’re going to go for it anyway and hope for the best.
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Yet again we are back with the hotel industry’s second cousin once removed (the airlines); which today provides a Tale that involves… making do with less. (Be afraid. Be very afraid.)
This particular shift in Baggage Claim is usually pretty quiet and straightforward. Go down, get any bags left on the carousel (frequently 0); stick your head in the Baggage Office to check for any bags needing attention; clear the voicemails; send the report. Done. We really haven't had any major baggage drama since the Great Frozen Food Meltdown of 2025, and Yours Truly doesn’t mind that one bit.
On this day, however, there is a family waiting for me. Husband, wife, grandfather, and baby. Pretty normal looking folks by airport people standards: Husband and wife are probably in their mid 30s. Husband looks like a solid product of the small town high school football starter to general contractor pipeline; and probably comes with a King Ranch F-250, a collection of t-shirts and hats featuring various depictions of the American flag, and a gun range membership included in the package deal. The wife is fairly unremarkable; the grandfather doesn’t say a word through the entire interaction. Yours Truly is of the opinion that all babies look the same, so the baby is simply a baby.
They are missing the baby’s car seat. A check of the tracking database shows… it’s still in Duckburg for some reason. Not ideal. It might get here later that same day; more likely it will be tomorrow. Fortunately they are all fairly chill about the situation. Well, first things first is to file a claim. We go through the process. The husband gives all the info, including the address. Said address is in a little town that is isolated enough that life runs a little differently compared to the significant metro area where our airport is located. It is also a 2 hour drive away.
The claim is filed; and once the car seat shows up, we’ll deliver it to them. That brings us to the next issue: Right here and right now these people are entitled to a replacement car seat, especially since they have a decent drive ahead of them. We do keep a stash of car seats on hand (not fancy ones, but they are brand new) to give out in this type of situation. Well, theoretically we do. Thanks to a “Who’s on First” routine amongst our management surrounding ordering supplies, we appear to be out. Stuffed all the way on the back of the shelf I find a booster seat for an elementary school sized kid, but that’s it. I call operations to see if there are more hiding somewhere but they are dealing with a legitimately more serious crisis at the moment so I’m on my own for now. I brace myself for this conversation and head back out to the family.
Yours Truly: “So, we’re just looking for a car seat to give you guys. I don’t have any in the back that are the right size, but we’re checking a few other places. How old is the baby?”
Macho Husband: “12 months. But don’t worry too much about it, we’ll be OK without one.”
YT: “But what are you going to do without a car seat? Don’t you have a bit of a drive to get home.”
MH: “Yeah, but it’s not that big of a deal. She’ll just hold the baby on her lap.”
YT: [internally] ?!?!?!
YT: “Um, I really don’t think you should drive all the way back to South Park without a car seat. I’m trying to find you one; hopefully it won’t take long. I do have this booster, but it’s obviously not the right size.”
MH: “I’m not too worried. We’ll just go. She can hold him.”
Quiet Wife: “I don’t know; a car seat would probably be a good idea.”
MH: “You can just hold him; it will be fine. You hold him on your lap to drive all the time.”
YT: [internally] ?!?!?!
QW: [to MH] “Well, yeah, but that’s just around town.” [to me] “It’s a really small town. Not busy or anything.”
YT: “You’re sure you don’t want to wait? I should get a call back any minute.”
MH: “Nah, we’re good. Thanks for your help though.”
All in all it has been a surprisingly jovial encounter considering the circumstances; for which I am grateful. Macho Husband gives me a bone crushing handshake and they leave. As I’m starting to regain feeling in my fingers the wife reappears alone and asks for the booster seat. I think we both know that it is completely useless for their specific baby, but I give it to her. Why they were so blase about this situation I am not sure. We will never know, but they were friendly enough that I hope they made it safely.
If you’ve ever read an owners manual for a GM car made in the 1990s-2000s (Wait, there are no other special interest weirdos here? Cool, cool; forget I even mentioned it…) you’ve seen their picture of what will supposedly happen if you drive (and crash) with a baby in your lap. And that; friends, is the image that haunts me for the rest of the day.
I’ve been working some new routes recently and it seems like the number of passengers who try to bring oversized things as carryons and say “I’ll just put it in the closet” has spiked dramatically. It’s like they assume there’s some sort of endless Narnia in there for them to put their guitar or wedding dress that they refuse to gate check. And don’t even get me started about the fits they throw if they find themselves on an aircraft without a closet (no, Karen, every aircraft does not in fact have one)
So from an FA’s perspective, is stashing stuff in the closet no big deal, or would you prefer for the crap that’s too big for the overhead bins to go elsewhere?