Expectation: Deal of the Day | Reality: Braying Donkey

Last time on Smoke, Oak, and the Open Road, our intrepid heroes had just landed in Orange County, luggage in hand—completely unaware of the chaos headed their way.

After retrieving our bags, I called the off-site rental agency to let them know we’d arrived. The counterperson gave me vague instructions about where to meet the shuttle, which pulled up a few minutes later.

The ride itself was short and uneventful. The driver was cheerful, even chatty. But the moment we stepped inside the rental office, the vibe shifted.

The man behind the counter acted like he was managing a fleet of Bentleys—not late-model Kias. Stone-faced, sigh-heavy, and not the least bit interested in our presence.

Now, my dad worked for Hertz my entire life, so I know the rental game pretty well. And when I say what happened next was unnecessarily complicated, you can believe me. It’s been years since I’ve had to do a complete walk-around inspection before getting the keys.

With keys finally in hand, I punched the address into Google Maps and pressed start. Estimated travel time: 26 minutes. I smiled and texted the seller our arrival time.

The events that followed transformed that smile into a grimace.

I’ve driven winding mountain passes, black-ice backroads, and even gone flat-out on the Autobahn in Germany. But nothing compares to the 405 on a Friday afternoon.

After a harrowing ride that would’ve made Mario Andretti proud, we finally exited the freeway of death and rolled into an idyllic Laguna Hills equestrian neighborhood.

The very air felt charged with our expectations. Horses whinnied greetings as we passed. And at last, the words “Your destination is on the right” heralded the end of one journey—and the beginning of another… just not in the way we anticipated.

There it was, sitting in the driveway—the RV we had flown across the country to acquire.

But you know that feeling you get when something is just… off? The best way I can describe it is a cold shock shooting up your spine as the Let’s Make a Deal zonk tone echoes in your ears.

Instead of the older but stately RV parked at the beach, like in the ad, we were greeted by a braying donkey of a rig with faded, peeling graphics. It looked less like a dream on wheels and more like a punchline in vinyl form.

Not looking like the picture may be common on dating sites, but what happened to truth in advertising?

The inside matched the outside—worn, dirty, and full of junk the current owners hadn’t bothered to remove. Old flip-flops. A tangle of mismatched cutlery. An inch of grime in the sink. It was a mess.

Needless to say, no deal would be struck that day.

What would our heroes do now? No plan. No place to stay.

The dream derailed before it even left the driveway.

Tune in for Part Three—where the wife supplies the plan and Dad’s advice supplies the drive, spirits get tested, and a new drink is born.