Do you ever have those moments in which you imagine a worst-possible-scenario pertaining to a situation you are dealing with and think, wouldn’t it be awful if …? Do you ever have those moments in which you do that, and then the WPS actually comes true? I had one of those yesterday.
Wendy’s car hadn’t been used in over a week. It was sitting outside and during that time of idleness it had suffered an onslaught of snow and chill and the general inclemency that has been our fate in this nastiest of winters this season. As she headed off to work (she walks), she suggested I might get the car going and take it for a drive since it had been sitting for so long. Not a problem. I had to get some groceries before I got to my writing, so I wanted the car in any case. I mean, I could have used my own, but hers needed a run.
It was still well below freezing when I went outside to approach the car. When I got there, the door lock on the driver’s side was utterly frozen. I did the old trick of warming the key with a cigarette lighter, but it was to no avail. Still feeling positive and without a care, I went to the passenger side. Aha! The door opened. I crawled within and fired the car up and put the heater and defroster on full blast. I thought I would then hang around and wait until some of the encrusted ice melted and windshield scraping would be facilitated. So, I exited the vehicle, thinking I should make sure I don’t shut the passenger door tightly just in case it should inadvertently lock on me, and there I would be stuck with the car running and no means of entry. Wouldn’t that be awful? So, I shut the door to the first click and stood around with my hands in my pockets for a few minutes.
After a quarter of an hour I noticed that the ice was melting nicely on the windshield, so I went to enter the car. The door was locked! No, I thought, it can’t be locked. Please dear God, don’t let it be locked. But, I looked at the button. It was down. Absofuckinglutely the car was locked! It was utterly and consummately locked. It was locked tighter than Rosie O’Donnell’s knees would be if Donald Trump were to walk into the room. Then I remembered. The master lock is in the driver’s door. If that door is locked, all others (as a child minder, if nothing else) lock automatically the moment they are closed – even if they are closed only to the first click.
At first I couldn’t believe what had happened. Secondly, I thought, don’t panic. There must be a simple solution to this. I racked my brain. I could come up with no simple solutions. I was starting to panic. A neighbor strolled by. He pondered the situation I was in, and told me of the one time he had done that. Everybody has a tale about when they locked their keys in the car, it seems. He went and got a coathanger. It was to no avail, try as we might. Meanwhile the car kept contentedly chugging away while chunks of snow and ice fell off the windshield and to the ground. At least it was thawing out.
He gave up finally and suggested I call the Automobile Association, if I was a member. Blessedly, I am. I had my cellphone with me. I called – and I called –and I called. All I got over a period to 20 minutes was a busy signal. This was no good. Meanwhile the car was sitting there, idling away and adding to the GDP of assorted emirates.
I finally decided I had no choice but to call for a cab. A cab that would take me to Wendy’s workplace, where I could get her keys and then come back to open the car. The idea of explaining what a putz I had been wasn’t comforting, no matter how understanding she might be. I was still feeling mortified by my stupidity. Anyway, the cab came; I went to her office; the cab waited for me; I then went back to the car.
“At least she’ll be warmed up for you now,” said the cabbie, with a smirk, when we got back.
You might be wise to keep your smartass comments to yourself since I haven’t given you a tip yet, I thought. But, I did tip him. And then I thought that aside from burning up gallons of gasoline, I also had to fork out $15 for cab fare, plus a tip, and all for the sake of my stupidity.
Some days it’s better just to stay in bed.
That was the second time in my life I’ve done that. I won’t tell you about the first. I’ve been humiliated enough in the past 24-hours.
Labels: cold, locked out, worst possible scenario
Don't you just hate intercoursing colds? I assume you do. Well, I am here to tell you that I have a coiting cold, and it's not a pretty scene.
