A few years ago, my family went on vacation. Dad's our pack mule and therefore moving the suitcases into the hotel is his job. Naturally, he commandeered one of those bell hop carts most hotels have. We helped him unload the van and load the cart. Six suitcases, two computer bags, five backpacks, three purses, a brief case, eight jackets, seven shoes... the cart was loaded. Full. I don't think we could have fit another bag on it if we tried.
It was only at that point we discovered the problem: the sidewalk. There was no ramp into the hotel. We were going to have to take the cart over the curb. Not a problem, we had Super Dad. He backed the cart up a bit and prepared for his task at hand.
"Ramming speed," he said, running towards the curb. The cart bounced onto the sidewalk and directly into a plant.
"BUSH!" I shouted. There was no way he could see over the eighty-seven bags.
"Push?" He repeated, doing as he said.
"No! BUSH. Like the president," I clarified.
"Reverse," he said, pulling the cart backwards, off the curb. He realigned it so as to avoid the bush that may forever grow with a big dent in it.
"Ramming speed." He wasn't so lucky the second time. The wheel hit the curb and the entire cart fell over, toppling all of our bags onto the ground.
As luck would have it, another van drove by at that exact moment. They waved. Dad's face turned red. We women were rolling.
Of course, we had to unload the cart, put it on the sidewalk, and then reload it. Someone took the front as we helped Dad navigate (naviget?) through the hotel and up to our rooms. Still laughing, we passed a maid in the hallway.
"Everything ok?" She asked.
"Yup. We just had a minor incident in the parking lot," Dad said, brushing it off.
"Actually, we just had a major parking lot incident," Mom corrected.
Bell hop carts make my heart smile.