Trip Start Mar 01, 2006
8Trip End Nov 01, 2006
Regretfully, I call the tour company to cancel. You have to write us a letter, they tell me. So, I go online and write an email to them. They email me back. You have to write us a letter, they say again.
Now listen, you took my reservation over the phone. You assigned me a number and confirmed by email. Why won't you take my cancellation either of those ways, as well. "Company policy," was the answer. "We need it for your file."
Hells bells, I say again. Print off my email and put it in my file. "If you want the partial refund of your deposit," they repeat, by email, "you have to send us a letter." Email back from me: I am NOT going to put a postage stamp on a letter and drive it to the post office. If that is your company policy, then change it.
No response. However, the next day my partial refund was credited to my Visa card. So, Thanksgiving at home this year. Christmas at home this year. New Year's at home this year. It is dark when I leave for work. It is dark when I come home. It is cold. I'm not sure I can make it through another winter of this.
My doctor signs the form for my disability parking permit. Now I can park my car within range of the bus stop at the Park and Ride. That helps. I can park nearer the grocery story now, and nearer the drug store, and nearer the Petsmart when I go to buy food for the cats. The permit hangs from the rear-view mirror, a big wheel chair the chosen logo for the "disabled."
Hells bells, is that what's to become of me? I try not to cry when I think of Africa, and Karen Blixen's house. But then, SHE had syphillis (a gift from her sorry husband) and she nearly died, and then she lost her lover in a plane crash, and then she lost her farm and had to leave Africa. Ah, Karen, sometimes our plans have to change, don't they?
So we just back up and take another road, to where we want to go.