On a cross country moving trip, I hit a Ramada Hotel in Lincoln, Nebraska. In the late 90's, Cyndi and I flew to Denver to help my friend, Mike. His girlfriend, Laura, had moved there six months prior. She had always wanted to live in Colorado, and even though their relationship was blossoming, she didn't want to have any regrets. So, she moved to Denver, lived with three of her guy friends, secured a job, and realized she preferred living in Chicago. I commended her for trying. More so for the very reason she went--so she wouldn't have any regrets.
At the time, my dad was still alive and was several years from retirement at American Airlines. Being an airline employee, he was able to offer low cost flights to his family. Cyndi and I agreed to fly out to Denver and drive back in Laura's Jeep and moving truck. We considered it an exciting adventure.
When we arrived in Denver, early on a Sunday afternoon, it was obvious that Laura was anxious to get home. There wasn't much for us to do in one night, so we simply went to dinner and hung out at a local bar for a few drinks.
The next morning, after the moving van was packed, we set out. Laura and Cyndi drove in the Jeep, and I took the Budget moving truck. Our plan was to drive halfway on Monday, find a place to sleep, and finish the trip Tuesday. Simple enough.
We made it to Lincoln without incident. This was long before GPS systems and just around the time the Internet was gaining steam. Meaning, we relied on maps and motel/hotel signs to guide our decisions. We found an area that had several hotels and restaurants, so we decided to pick one, grab some grub, and get some rest.
I wasn't traveling in my job like I do today, so my knowledge of hotels was limited. Surprisingly, we made a good pick with the Ramada. The room had two double beds (which allowed us to only have to get one for all three of us), and they offered a free breakfast buffet in the morning. It was our golden ticket.
In the morning, we dined on waffles, eggs, juice, and coffee. We were pleased with the direction this adventure was taking. Before we left, we stood in the parking lot by our vehicles and discussed our plans. I had a sudden urge to go to the bathroom, so I told Laura and Cyndi that I would drive the truck to the front and meet them there.
Easy enough, unless you are me.
I pulled the truck up to the front and did not bother to pay attention to things like Clearance. BAM! The hood of the moving truck slammed into the--brand new, mind you--awning of the satisfying Ramada Inn. The noise the crash made was so loud, that a small crowd immediately gathered out front to see what happened.
I had put a nice sized break in the hotel awning and a hole in the hood of the moving truck. The manager of the hotel was not very pleased. He took down my information, and told me I would be hearing from their insurance company, which I did in the form of threatening letters.
You see, Mike told me to ignore their calls. He said that they would probably grow tired of trying to chase me and I wouldn't have to pay the $1600 they were requesting from me. I tried that tactic until it was obvious it wasn't going to work.
I received a letter from an attorney. I called Bob Porter and he said I shouldn't ignore them. He suggested I offer to settle the case for half. I did and they accepted.
Laura's moving expenses were much less than the fees I had to pay for the damages I caused. Luckily, Budget never said anything about the truck. In fact, Laura told them that the hole was already there when we picked it up and they apologized to her.
I got off easy with them, but I learned a valuable lesson from Ramada: let the person you are helping move drive the truck!
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