On a visit to Cancun Blonde and Brunette were luxuriating for a free week at the Westin, courtesy of our Starwood Amex points. We had both been to Cancun previously and wanted to see some places we hadn’t seen before and revisit some favorites. Buses are cheap and easy for getting around in Cancun but to do any exploring away from the resort area, it’s necessary to rent a car. We arranged with the hotel to have one delivered to us.
The Westin has a gate that must be raised by an attendant in order for cars to enter or exit. This will deter even the most sophisticated drug cartels or terrorists so there’s no arguing with the soundness of the approach.
Upon delivery of the car Blonde agreed to be the first to drive. As is generally the case with rentals outside of the U.S., the car had a stick shift. Both B&B learned to drive on stick shifts so, theoretically, are able to do so even these many years later. Theoretically Congress works for their constituents
and Donald Trump’s hair is a natural growth. And theoretically Brunette remembered how to drive a stick.
The driving duo exited semi-smoothly as Blonde is the man when it comes to driving and could get underway with minimal hopping or stalling. After a trip to Akumal Blonde announced that it was Brunette’s turn to drive back to the Westin. After massive giggling, car hopping, jumping and leaping we got to the highway and Brunette found her mojo. No stops, no hills, no traffic, no problem.
As the Westin is at the far southern end of the hotels it is the first one you encounter when returning from Akumal. Brunette has many useful skills but navigation is not among them. As the hotel suddenly appeared Blonde called out “turn right, this is our entrance”! Brunette twisted the wheel but couldn’t make the turn and also downshift so we jumped into the driveway like cartoon characters. The gate attendant’s pupils dilated to the size of hub caps and he pushed the button to make the gate fly up – no questions asked.
We had the exhilaration that comes from cheating death and were, of course, giggling as we tried to feign being cool by promptly driving into a lot reserved for the property’s vehicles. Brunette then had to find reverse and hop, skip and jump our way out of the lot as amused workers looked on. Somehow we managed to land in front of the fascinated, brave valet at the door. He was all too happy to take the keys away from us.
Not a pair to learn much from our mistakes, each day Blonde drove out and Brunette drove back. And each day the driveway to the Westin jumped out at Brunette without warning. She always panicked, jerked the wheel and flung the car in the general direction of the hotel. The gate was thrown into the air without the attendant caring if we were bringing in a shipment of Uzis, homicidal gorillas or Charlie Sheen.
Try this, it may save you some time waiting for those pesky gates to open. It certainly did for us.
(It was a shame that the gate attendant developed PTSD but that surely was a coincidence and his lawsuit will be dismissed – we hope.)