Last week, Dear Reader, I promised to tell you about part two of the Mincey/Martin time-share vacation (ad)venture.
I related last week that it was in 1996 that my friend Mark Martin and I each got the same enticing letter in the mail. The only difference was the name on the header. Mine proclaimed in bold letters, “RONNIE MINCEY! PACK YOUR BAGS!”
Mr. Martin and I must have taken this as a sign from God or something similar that we both received these letters at approximately the same time. We decided to take advantage of the golden opportunity. As a result of this offer, in exchange for our agreement to view a time-share opportunity, we were invited to take part in a two-part, low-price vacation package.
In the summer of 1996 Mr. Martin and I cruised to the Bahamas, as related last week. Part two occurred the following summer when Mr. Martin and I visited Jamestown and Colonial Williamsburg, Virginia.
As I had driven to Florida for the first part of our package, Mr. Martin drove for the second part of our adventure in 1997. I was so excited to visit Jamestown, Virginia, site of the first permanent English settlement in the New World. With my very own eyes, I thought, I will get to see what our founding fathers (and mothers) saw.
The guide at the Jamestown historical site dashed that hope. How stupid I felt when he related that nothing was exactly as our founders saw when they landed. It had been 389 years since Jamestown was first settled, and not one tree that grows in that part of the country has a life span that long.
As the highlight of the Virginia visit, we visited the restored Williamsburg, Virginia. It is worth a quick Google search to learn about the history and restoration of this fascinating city. I really did feel as if I’d transported back in time, more so than I did in Jamestown.
There was a candlelight service at Bruton Parish Church. I was just fascinated at the opportunity to attend a service in the very same building in which George Washington had worshipped.
Mr. Martin, however, did not seem enthused at this idea at all. I told him I thought that as a music teacher he would be most intrigued to attend this wonderful service, which would feature Baroque-style string instrument classics. I convinced Mr. Martin to attend with me. He might not have enjoyed the experience, but I was most thrilled.
The church building was by no means a disappointment. The candlelight provided an even more ethereal experience on that calm, peaceful summer evening. I marveled at the most unusual style of the pulpit and the boxed pews with doorways at the end of each pew. In my historic euphoria, I could not help but imagine the spirits of Washington and his founding companions were somehow present with me in that religious experience.
Mr. Martin and I joyfully toured the other historic Williamsburg buildings, except for the Governor’s Palace. That was scheduled for the afternoon we had to honor our pledge to participate in a time-share presentation.
Our guide was rather pretty, though I could not now describe one aspect of her physical appearance. I do remember she was a very pregnant, effervescent lady. As a matter of fact, she related that she was within days of delivery. I certainly hoped she would not go into labor while she was our guide, as I doubt Mr. Martin would have fared any better with childbirth than he did with eating a lobster in shell!
Our guide drove us around in a car (I suppose it was her car, and it didn’t look any better than my own used one) and showed us some of the sights of Williamsburg that we had not seen. She told us that there were underground tunnels that led from the House of Burgesses to houses of ill repute across the street. The tunnels were designed to prevent the public from witnessing their representatives on their travels to visit prostitutes. (I wonder if there are such tunnels now in our capital cities?)
Meanwhile our guide worked up to her time-share presentation, and took us to visit an actual time-share into which we could buy. After visiting the property, on the way back to our drop-off point she asked us what we thought. Mr. Martin was sitting in the front passenger seat. He remained silent during what I will call “the invitation”.
I said from the back, “I don’t think I’m interested?”
“But why wouldn’t you want to take advantage of such a wonderful opportunity?”
I replied, “It’s just not something that I’m interested in.”
“Don’t you want to experience adventure? You don’t have to come to this location every year. You can trade it out with other time-share holders and travel to practically any place in the world.”
“It’s just not for me.”
“It can’t be a question of money. You have to have a reasonable amount of income or this offer would not have been extended to you.”
By now, I’m starting to get a little exhausted with the pressure. We had not experienced this level of pressure to purchase in Florida. I think perhaps this lady was desperate, probably working on commission, furnishing her own gas and using her own vehicle for these presentations. With a baby practically ready to grace the world at any minute, maybe her job hinging on Mr. Martin’s and my decision, she was under tremendous pressure to make a sale. Nevertheless, my pity for all this supposition did not entice me to loosen my purse strings.
I said, “Lady, I live so close to the edge that if I buy one more thing I’ll probably go under and lose it all.”
I wish you wonderful readers could have seen the look on Mr. Martin’s face as our guide proceeded to bang her fist on the roof of the car, yelling, “You guys (BANG) are going to go through life (BANG), and never have any fun (BANG, BANG).” Mr. Martin’s eyes got bigger with each BANG!
I didn’t say it, but thought to myself, “Lady, the most fun I’ve had on this vacation was watching you beat the roof of this car because we won’t buy this time-share.”
I thought further, “Lady, if you bang on that hood much more, Mr. Martin’s eyeballs are going to pop out of his head! Then you’ll have a mess!”
As her banging increased, her effervescence diffused. As her effervescence diffused, my tickle box geared up. Mr. Martin might not have said anything while he was sitting within arms’ length of this lady’s beating fist, but he and I laughed at great length about it after we exited the car.
Most recently I have been reminded of this lady when I see the commercial on television where an attorney is offering his services to get people out of those in-many-cases unwise time-share purchases made years ago. According to that commercial, those purchases are somehow binding on beneficiaries of the original purchasers’ estates. The attorney claims it is most difficult to extricate oneself from a time-share agreement. On this Thanksgiving Day I am happy I did not yield to that temptation.
On our way home Mr. Martin checked his oil. A little way down the road Mr. Martin smelled something getting hot under the hood. It seems he forgot to replace the oil cap, and it had begun to melt on top of the engine. Mr. Martin was practically in anguish until we managed to find an auto parts store so he could buy a replacement cap.
We stopped to visit Monticello, home of Thomas Jefferson, third president of the United States. We both thoroughly enjoyed Monticello. The architecture and ingenuity of the clock Mr. Jefferson designed were amazing! I admired the way his bed was built into the wall, so that if he got out on the left he was in one room, and in another room if he exited from the right.
It’s too bad we didn’t have our pregnant guide with us there, for we might have found out about Sally Hemmings and her secret room before it became a topic of historical conversation in more recent years. It seems President Jefferson had a hidden tunnel of his own at Monticello! We might also have found out more about some of Jefferson’s unclaimed offspring.
(Wonder how much more of the less favorable aspects of the history of our founding fathers/mothers might have been left out of our history books to protect us as children from the more human side of our American ancestors?)
I leave you, Dear Reader, with thoughts to ponder until we next meet via the printed word:
He who hesitates is probably doing the right thing.
Long ago when men cursed and beat the ground with sticks, it was called witchcraft. Today, it's called golf!
What was the turkey thankful for on Thanksgiving? Vegetarians.
I don’t like to brag about the expensive places I’ve been to, but this morning I went to the gas station. ― Louisiana State Senator John Kennedy
I don't always go the extra mile, but when I do it's because I missed my exit.
Politicians are people who, when they see light at the end of the tunnel, go out and buy some more tunnel. ― John Quinton, American Actor/Writer
At 25, Thomas Jefferson was elected to the Virginia House of Burgesses. At 65, Thomas Jefferson retired to Monticello.