Roadside assistance

I've been spending many hours on the road recently, helping with a friend who needs transportation to Stony Brook Hospital for radiation treatments. The route is easy, but I don't like spending so much time on major highways. I hate multiple lanes and high-speed travel. And it was inevitable that at some point there would be some sort of incident. Enter Triple A!

We've been members of AAA since about 1993 when we started regular road trips to take our eldest to college. I felt more comfortable with the little bit of insurance that the organization offered in terms of their roadside assistance program. It has come in handy a few times, once for a son who had an accident on his way back to college, and a couple times for keys locked in the car. On nearly twenty years of membership we've used the services less than half-dozen times. So I would say that so far they've made plenty of money on us.

When my car broke down on Sunrise Highway recently I called AAA. I was not pleased with the service person on the other end of the phone. In the first place I expected him to inquire right off the bat whether or not we were in a safe place. He never asked that question and never offered to call the police to assure we were OK. When I asked for assistance he gave me the third degree, and not in a terribly friendly manner.  He wanted to know what town I was in ("I'm not sure but we just passed the Westhampton exit") and what the nearest cross street was ("There are no cross streets - its a highway") and what was the exit number ("I don't know - it was Westhampton - do you want me to walk back 1.8th of a mile to look at the sign?") and so it went. I became more and more frustrated as I sat shaking by the side of the road, feeling the pull of heavy trucks and fast-moving vehicles flying by us within a few feet. We were going to be late for her treatment. I didn't know what was wrong with the car. I didn't know what the answers to his questions were. The final straw was when he asked where I wanted the car to be towed to. I told him the name of the service station in East Hampton. He wanted an address. I didn't have an address but I had a phone number. He insisted he needed an address. I was nearly in tears.

But here's the kicker. He got my mechanic on the phone and made the mistake of having me on a three-way conversation. I could hear the difference in the tone of his voice when he spoke to the mechanic. There was no condescension, no annoyance, and no insistence that he needed more information, even when the mechanic said he needed to have the tow truck operator call when he reached EH because he would not find his shop by the address. Somehow whatever he said was acceptable, but nothing I said was.

And there you have it. Anyone who doesn't believe that men are treated differently than women don't have any idea what they're talking about. And I'm glad I had my Triple A membership, but I hope I never have to deal with that operator again...