It wasn’t much of a fight. It was mostly me getting beat down like a dog. I give the GM of the resort partial credit in that he answered most of my phone calls, a real chicken would have sent me to voice mail. Of course I had believed him way too long as it was. He promised to pay for the rental, vowed he would stop at the Enterprise office in Reno and cover the invoice. A person would think I would have figured their game out much sooner, like right after he didn’t pay for the rental the first time… But I am a trusting soul, and I tend to believe the best in people.

Whew. What a mistake.

This whole truck hit by snowblower episode was taking its toll. I had originally considered driving the truck back to Santa Fe, but with no headlight and unknown internal damages, I didn’t want to take the risk. In addition, the auto body shops in Santa Fe–I checked with three–were backlogged to May before they could even take my truck. The Truckee body shop who after almost four days, finally gave an estimate, couldn’t take the truck for over a week, and then couldn’t get it done in time for me to leave. In short, their estimate was worthless. Then, to add to the mess, Crash Champions had missed including recalibrating the cameras and computer, which brought their total to over $10,000. Add to that the car rental and my missed two days at my condo at South Lake Tahoe and the total was in the $12,000 range.

And I hadn’t seen a dime out of the resort. I was a little bit stressed.

I got down out of the Sierras and went to my sister’s assisted living apartment. I had a couple days before my hard stop, gotta-hit-the-road-or-I’ll-miss-my-flight-out-of-Santa Fe-to-Dallas, do or die date. The GM assured me the wheels were greased and rolling. I let it go.

At my sister’s I got a taste of life in a really nice assisted living facility. We went down to the in-house restaurant and had breakfast and talked so much we segued into lunch. On Thursday I went to her chair hula class, lead by her daughter Karolyn and a hula dance instructor. I remembered when we were first scouting assisted living locations we went to one in North Elk Grove and they were having a hula class. I thought it was hysterically funny. This time I thought what a good way to stay active and engaged and learn something new. One of the ladies in the class was born and raised in Japan, a happa Japanese and Caucasian whose mother was from the Southeast United States. I got her book, Made in Japan. She spent WW2 in Wakayama, where my father’s family had also been. I was eager to read about her life during the war years in Japan.

That evening we celebrated my niece’s birthday. My sister Carol and I escaped from assisted living and went out to have the birthday dinner at Karolyn and Tom’s home. We returned to the apartment and to the security of the place Carol now considered her home. I was glad that she was happy at the facility. It had taken a year or two, but she was now part of the community, and I am sure she is like all of us—there’s no place like home.

Friday came. My day of reckoning. I packed up my bags, bid Carol goodbye. The auto body shop was good to its word—they completed the repair work in a week. My truck was repaired, but they told me they would not release my vehicle until it was paid for or they had a guarantee that it would be paid. Olympic Valley Inn had gone dark.

 Carol had lived in California for fifty years. In that time she and her husband cut a wide swath through Contra Costa County where they had lived. They had been active in local, county and state politics. I finally asked her, “Do you know anyone who can help me?”

She looked at me blankly at first. She had been retired for over 20 years, and I knew most of her connections were probably retired or dead. A lot of them were dead.

Her first response was, “Bob Campbell could help, but he’s dead.” Yep. Bob had been a California state Assemblyman.  A lot of them were dead.

But then she thought a second more and said, “His wife Maria ran the insurance business he had. She could help.” Bingo!

We called Maria and she answered right away. She gave me great advice that I will forever be grateful for:

1. File a police report.
2. Call my insurance company

I called my insurance company. I have been using West Bend Insurance for close to 40 years. Through those years I have had my share of claims. Car dents and dings, hail damage, water damage… the normal stuff that happens in life.

I got Alyssa on the line, got a claim number within minutes, and gave her the contact information for Olympic Valley Inn. I explained the situation, that the auto body shop wouldn’t release my car, OVI wasn’t coming through, I needed to leave that day to make it to my commitment in Dallas. She said it probably would take a day or two, but she assured me she would do what she could.

It was Friday, March 15. I had planned on being on the road home. I had no car. No place to go. With thousands of dollars of repairs and auto rentals hanging over me. The auto rental was through today, and then I would either be out of any kind of vehicle or I would have to extend the rental.

I decided to drive up to Lake Tahoe and sit in the Olympic Valley Inn office until something happened. All I had was time, and the window of opportunity was rapidly closing.

My sister grew up during the late 60s during the Vietnam war protests. She helped me print a letter of protest that I figured I would post if they didn’t help me at the resort. And I drove the rental car up to Lake Tahoe.

The General Manager looked up when I walked in with my backpack. He looked a little surprised, as I had talked to him briefly as I was driving.  He didn’t know I was driving, he was just giving me an update—of nothing.  I sat in one of his office chairs at a small round table. His list of ToDos that were on a white board hadn’t changed since I had been there a week before. I told him I was just going to wait in his office until someone got my car out of the body shop. He asked me if I could stay with my sister. I told him I had worn out that welcome. He got on the phone and called his corporate insurance person. Then he sent an email off.

He offered to put me up in a room. I told him I had no desire to stay at this resort—ever again. He checked on a couple other properties.  His phone rang. The corporate person’s boss’s boss was calling. I could hear her say, “Is she still there?” He replied, “Yes, she’s sitting in my office.”

I made myself comfortable. He made a few more calls. He claimed he didn’t have a corporate credit card, couldn’t write me a check. He didn’t have the “authority.” BS.

Alyssa from West Bend called and I gave her the GM’s name and phone number. She had reached out to the parent company, Grand Pacific Resorts. She assured me she was working on it. But couldn’t guarantee resolution by end of day. We were also working against time as West Bend was in Central time, and I was sitting in Pacific time.

I have a lot of faith in the goodness of people. At my core I believe people know right from wrong and that most try to do the right thing. Call me naïve. Call me stupid. I’ve already called myself all that and more. I knew in my heart that if worse came, I could fly to Dallas to meet my commitment and fly back. That’s what my credit card and savings account are for. But I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to believe a resort/company/corporation would leave one of their customers hanging due to an incident they acknowledged was their fault. Boy, was I wrong.

The GM’s phone rang. By then I had been there about an hour and a half. It was the corporate insurance manager and their CORPORATE ATTORNEY! To make a short conversation even shorter, the attorney basically said they were not paying, they were submitting to insurance, and my insurance would have to pay. For everything.  She even told the GM to “quit talking” at one point.

I couldn’t believe my ears. Two weeks earlier when my truck had been hit, I had been assured I would be taken care of, the damages would be covered. And I should just enjoy the rest of my vacation. HAH!

I sat there in shock. The GM just looked at me, then pretended to do some work.

I pulled out my protest fliers. I asked the GM, “Is this the way you would want your mother or grandmother to be treated?” He just sat there. I probably misjudged him. Maybe he would let his mother or grandmother be stranded. He certainly left me stranded…

I had nowhere to go. It was 3 pm. My car rental was due. Offices were closed or closing in the Midwest. I figured the couch in the resort lobby would suit me just fine. And if they kicked me out, I could sleep in the rental car that would be racking up late return fees.

My phone rang. I answered. The GM was looking at me hopefully. It was Alyssa at West Bend. She said they would cover the auto body costs, and had already talked to the shop to release my vehicle. I quickly called Crash Champions in Sacramento. I told them I was on my way from Palisades at Lake Tahoe. “Lake Tahoe?” he asked. I said yes, that it would take me an hour and a half. He said they would wait for me. I asked him to call the Enterprise Rental and let me leave the car at their shop. He agreed.

The GM asked, “Good news?”

I just looked at him. I can’t remember now if I answered, I only saw red when I looked at him. I gave him one of the fliers I was ready to paper the lobby with. He represented all that is bad about American Capitalism, and that’s coming from a pro-capitalist.

I went down the hall to the restroom, preparing for the hour and a half non-stop drive to Sacramento. I was praying internally that rush hour in Sacramento wouldn’t set me back too much.

I passed by the GM’s office, paused and made eye contact. Then left without a word.