Gentlemen, start your engines. But first, fill out just one more form

Rented my first car last weekend. Since my 16^th birthday, I’ve always had my own wheels, dilapidated though they sometimes were. But a few weeks ago, my Mercury finally cashed in its chips and I have yet to replace it. So when I needed to make a four-day trip out of town, I decided to give the rental place a try.

To paraphrase Jerry Garcia, “What a long, strange trip it was.”

Turns out you can’t just walk into the rental office, say, “Gimme a car,” and drive away, not if you want a decent rate, anyway. To get the best rate, one must go—where else?—online.

There are several “price fixer” sites on the Internet; I tried them all in an effort to save a buck. I finally settled on the one featuring an older, fatter version of Star Trek’s Captain Kirk in their advertising.

I told Captain Kirk what days I would need the car, what type of car I was looking to rent, and how much I wanted to spend.

Now, it’s true that Kirk no longer pilots a starship where no man has gone before, but he still has some pull with car rental companies, apparently, because he was able to find me a fairly decent bargain on a gas-efficient Pontiac not six blocks from my house.

I made my reservation, after which I was taken to a page detailing the items the rental place would need from me. Because I was paying with a debit card, rather than my insanely-high-interest Visa, I would need the following items: 1) a valid driver’s license; 2) proof of insurance; 3) a pay stub showing my current address; 4) a paid receipt from a major utility bill; 5) my birth certificate; 6) my social security card; 7) a pound of my flesh; 8) my first born son; and 9) a quart of Ben & Jerry’s Ice Cream, preferably “Chubby Hubby” or “Cherry Garcia.”

I spent a couple days gathering up all the required documentation, organized it into a loose leaf binder, and then carefully labeled each page according to date, time and subject. After creating an index page, I alphabetized the whole mess for good measure.

When I walked through the doors of the rental place, I was ready. Or so I thought.

Because I moved recently, most of my paperwork still displays my previous address. This frustrated the rental car people no end.

“But my driver’s license has my current address,” I said. “So does…um…this check! And my phone bill!”

“It’s not the same as the address on your insurance information,” the rental guy noted.

“I know,” I said. “That’s my old address.”

“And this ice cream is praline pecan parfait,” said the rental guy. “It’s supposed to be ‘Chubby Hubby’ or ‘Cherry Garcia.’”

“The market was out of those,” I explained.

The exchange continued for about 20 minutes, in more or less this vein. Finally, making it quite clear he strongly suspected I was an illegal alien or terrorist of some kind who would no doubt fill the car with explosives before parking it in front of a Chucky Cheese’s somewhere, the rental guy handed over the keys.

One short retina scan, fingerprinting, and cursory cavity search later, I was driving away.

The rental guy seemed a little surprised when I brought the unexploded car back four days later.

“Now that you have me on file, I guess we won’t have to go through all that next time I rent from you, right?” I asked.

“Oh, no, we’ll still need all the same information every time,” he said, smiling.

I’m going car shopping tomorrow.

More Reality Check online at http://mtrealitycheck.blogspot.com or www.mlive.com. Email Mike Taylor at mtaylor325@gmail.com.