Frances and Emily enter the Charlotte Airport Rental Car Center. It’s a large, clean, open space, quite empty on this September morning. The Avis desk is on the far side of the center, past Hertz, Enterprise, Dollar, etc. etc. There are long queue ropes, suggesting that at other times there might be long lines. But, as perhaps the first bit of luck that Emily and Frances have had on this particular journey (a ridiculously early journey from New York full with long security lines, over-priced and undercooked egg sandwiches, $10 bad coffee, and the bumpiest landing either could remember), there is no one else in it. Two rental car agents stand, ready to help, at the tall counters.
Emily (who has been grousing since passing a Hudson Bookstore): I just don’t get it. Why would someone have taken the time to turn the Hillary books upside down? Like, do they think that’s actually going to bother someone?
Frances (adopting her native Southern accent, so that the word is two+ syllables): Well.
Frances and Emily pull their luggage toward the nearest attendant, a middle-aged woman, who frowns at them.
Agent: You have to go through the line.
Emily and Frances look back at the “line starts here” sign. One man has now made his way to the sign. They go to the line, wind their way all the way through, where they are immediately waved over by the same agent.
Agent: Welcome to Avis. Do you have a reservation.
Emily: Roller.
Agent beings typing.
Agent: Great, and will you be adding another driver?
Emily: Actually, we’d like to switch so that she (indicating Frances) is the primary driver.
Agent: Oooh. Sorry. Can’t do that. You did it online.
Silence–except for the light sound of the agent’s keyboard.
Emily: Can we add her, then?
Agent: That will be $12 additional, per day.
Emily: Really?
Frances: You could drive—
Emily: We’ll add her.
Frances: Drivers license?
Frances hands her the license. The typing continues.
Agent: From New York, huh? What brings you to North Carolina?
Frances: A funeral.
Agent: I had an uncle who died recently. Terrible. Family had a complete melt down. I went out to the funeral in Durham. Insurance?
Emily: I bought it online.
Agent: That one doesn’t count.
Emily: What?
Agent: The one you buy online. It doesn’t really cover anything. You have to get one through us.
Emily: It said it would be more expensive through you.
Agent: Do you have your own insurance?
Emily: No.
Agent: That’s going to be $30 additional, per day, minimum. $60 if you want full-coverage.
Emily: We’ll take the minimum.
Type, type, type, type.
Agent: I am sorry for your loss. I was close with my uncle. $4 per day, and I can upgrade you to a Camaro.
Emily: We just spent our expendable budget on the additional driver.
Agent: So no Camaro?
Emily looks down at her luggage. Frances steps beside her.
Frances: No, thank you. Sorry about your uncle.
The typing continues. Possibly getting louder?
Type, type, type, type.
Type, type, type, type.
Type—
Emily looks up to see Agent leaning over the counter. Agent’s face is near Emily’s.
Agent (loud whisper): And what is the nature of your relationship?
Emily freezes. Frances slowly backs away, stammering.
Frances: Uh, we’re partners.
Agent leans closer and winks aggressively.
Agent: Domestic partners?
Emily braces herself for the $10 a day lesbian up-charge, the $50 flat gay cleaning fee, and the mandatory reading of Genesis 19 (which cannot be done online). Frances locates nearest exits.
Frances: Uh, yes.
Type, type, type, type, TYPE–
Agent: Then you get the spouse discount—no fee on the additional driver! Looks like you paid online! You’re all clear!
End of Scene.
