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 Travel & Outdoors | December 2005 
The Time Share Trap
 Jim Soliski - Northern Express
| | Forget daisy chain paraflops, I wanted scuba diving. |
Forget daisy chain paraflops, I wanted scuba diving. A little shopping around destroyed any illusions about Mexico still coming cheap; $78 was the most reasonable trip. The other option was to go tanned-toe-to-tanned-toe with the time share tyrants. Their offices offered gifts for the right to listen to their pitch. I faked interest and took the plunge. Ninety minutes of my time earned scuba diving for two. But the price also included more than I had bargained for.
An icebreaker conversation, lunch, and a tour of the impressive grounds and apartments led to the Closing Room.
“If you like the terms, we have what we call FVI, or First Visit Incentive (compliant with Mexican law as they had already painfully pointed out) meaning you get the one-bedroom suite plus the studio room for US $42,000, then a $329 annual maintenance fee. This assures you one week per year, 50% more fee getting you into your place at Christmas, New Year’s, or Easter.”
I had the stock cheap guy’s response all prepared, and they looked at me as if they were ready for baloney, so I delivered: “I can’t give you a commitment of that size right now. I’m the point guy with my family. I’m supposed to get information and talk about it at dinner. Can I take the numbers with me?”
“We understand, but the answer, I’m afraid, is no, we have to turn them in. I was hoping you could keep them clear in your mind.”
Time for the cheapie retreat and regroup: “No I’m not signing and committing anything this fast.”
Up come the reinforcements: Somehow Manager #1 arrived just on cue. He was debriefed on my unique intellect and amiability.
“So your family is out looking at other time shares, then you’ll compare tonight, that’s it, right?”
Time for a segue or deflection or bigger fib: “Nope, I left them shopping.”
Rebuttal: “That doesn’t seem fair.”
Battle fatigue: “What doesn’t seem fair?”
Shock troops called up: “That you have to be here and they’re off vacationing.”
Back to the bunker mentality: “No big deal.”
Pregnant pause.
Interrogation of the POW: “So your family sent you?”
Name, rank, and serial number: “I sent myself for all of us.”
Good interrogator role: “Do they trust your judgment?”
John Wayne prisoner of war monosyllable response: “Sure.”
Sneaky enemy officer trap springs: “So why wouldn’t they trust you to make this decision?”
Duke punch to the enemy nose: “Because it ain’t gonna happen right here, right now.”
Victory, music up, popcorn bags on the floor. He departed silently. Wait. The second interrogator, bad cop. My pitchman waved Manager #2 over.
“This is Jim, he said there’s six in his family, I don’t know...”
I heard words and phrases like equity, convenience, what’s best for me, prime carrying charges, and on and on until my cranium was out of RAM. He gave way. After a decade or an hour, I was alone, rewarded, scuba laden at last.
No.
Up rose interrogator #3. A woman this time, the ultimate dirty-trick weapon for a single guy, a woman of such beauty and clear of eye that Satan had to have broken the mold, and she took one last crack at capturing the whole battalion. I was Odysseus resisting the Siren’s offensive, with the single-minded focus of the scuba prize battling her allures.
When she finally surrendered, I fled unescorted to the in-house travel agency who booked the scuba for the next day.
Odysseus survived the voyage, except in our own little Greek tragedy, the underwater view during the dive was reduced to a few yards from rain and cloud. Who said Homer didn’t like mockery? |
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