Over the weekend we decided we'd better make our hotel reservations for August.
Six months away.
There we sat in our pjs, surrounded by guide books, maps, and other touristy paraphernalia, as we hammered out our route through eight states for Road Trip 2007.
After hours of research, reading travel horror stories on Trip Advisor, and tossing a few coins to decide on accomodations (no, not really) we began making phone calls to book ahead before all the good places were taken.
Have I ever told you how much I hate those hotel reservation lines?
Especially one who does the hard sell tactic on a coupon book you have to pay for to save on gas? What's up with that? When I say NO, I mean NO.
And then the others where you can't hear the operator and for all you know, she's booked you for three nights at some resort in Hong Kong with Jackie Chan?
Me:"my address is 573 Orange Avenue, Anywheretown, BC."
Operator:"Anywheretown?" She pronounces it horribly wrong, which isn't unusual. It's a weird name anyway.
Operator:"Um....Beeee Seeeee?" she's sounding a little confused.
Me: "British Columbia, yes."
Silence. She pauses, and is obviously thinking so hard that I hate to say something a disturb her concentration.
Operator:"Is that....um...BC..um....United States?" she offered hopefully.
I stared at the phone in disbelief.
Operator:"Ca..na...da?" the word rolled off her tongue like it was from a foreign language.
Me: "Yes, the country north of you. You know, dogsleds. Maple Syrup. The 2010 Olympics. Canada."
Silence. Honest to God, I don't think she knew what, much less where, Canada was. It was just a little frightening to be giving this woman my Visa number.
We Canadians may not be able to remember all 50 states (or something) and where each one is, but ask even a 9 year old and they'll know where the United States is.
It's in Disneyland, of course.