Last night the ToolMaster switched cars with me so he could take the larger vehicle to Scouts. He was teaching the fine art of axery, and needed a stack of wood and a leg guard for the kids. Fortunately he took the latter. (Despite his instruction, four kids struck the barrier with enough force to do harm.) Unfortunately, he left the car in the driveway, locked but with the window rolled down.
I was in a rush, peeps. I needed to get to the bank, then to a community league halfway across town to purchase tickets for a non-negotiable event, and I had less than an hour to do so. That’s probably why I reached through the window without thinking.
Oy. Alarm city. Wouldn’t be a problem, except the keyless portion of my fob stopped working a few months ago and I hadn’t wanted to pay the $100 for a new one when I could “just use the key manually. After all, that’s been perfectly adequate for humans for the last forty years, so it’s good enough for me.”
Ten minutes later, after my cheeks had faded to the color of tomato sauce, and after my neighbor disconnected the car’s battery, I could breathe again.
I’ve told you this story:
a). Because it has a happy ending. My neighbors loaned me their vehicle. I got the tickets. My daughter won’t vow eternal vengeance.
b). To soften you up for a request. Jen K. Blom — she of the MG stories of the possumed variety — is looking for middle school tales of embarrassment. I don’t have any to offer. Either therapy worked, or my junior high experiences were so traumatic, they’ve been locked out of accessible memory. (Hope they’re smarter than me, and fork over the $100 😉 ) However, if you have any stories you think she’d enjoy, please go to the hyperlink attached to her name.
Other than that, I got nothin’ except a fun video. This one’s courtesy of Dee Garretson, another demanding, insatiable, fine MG writer. (True statement, even if she doesn’t employ possums in her fiction.)
Doh! I almost forgot the customary “About You” section of my blog. Do any of you have any fun, locked-out-of stories? Not of the middle school variety, because those, of course, need to be written on Jen’s blog.)
I avoided that fate two weeks ago! I’m learning to drive our car (manual trans) and we had to get me a car key made. So we did, and my hubs is explaining how I’ll set the alarm off if I try to open it when he’s locked it with the stupid fob. But not to worry cuz he NEVER uses the fob. He really doesn’t, either.
The next day I thought, oh! I have a key now! I shall DRIVE to the store! So I gather my recyclable bags and my list and tromp happily down the stairs… over to the car…. hand poised over the key, I remember, hubs locked it with the fob. When he was explaining how he never does that so I don’t have to worry about using my key.
Jess, LOL, so glad you remembered. That would not be an auspicious beginning to your salvo at independence. Sounds like you’re coming along with the manual transmission, though. Good for you.
Back in the olden days — LOL — before fobs, I locked my keys in the car, while it was still running. (insert red face here) I can’t remember how much I had to pay a locksmith to pop it open in two seconds.
A few years ago I had a cranky downstairs neighbor that was giving me a hard time about something, and the next day on my way out to the car, which was parked close to her window, I accidentally (REALLY!) hit the panic button on my key fob, and I couldn’t get it to stop. LOL I was sure she thought I did it on purpose, just to be mean.
Donna, ouch on the locksmith tale. The ToolMaster once locked us out of the vehicle on a camping trip. What saved us was that I accidentally put my own keys in my pocket, LOL.
Awwwwwww-you are the best!!!!!!!
Xoxoxoxo!!!!!
16 years ago when my son was a baby, I locked him in the car (a 1980 camaro) with the car running at 6:30 in the morning. I didn’t have a cell phone (did I say 16 years ago?), and I didn’t know what to do. I found a huge rock, actually a chunk of concrete, and went to the other side of the car. I tried to break the window out. I tried. I tried. It would not break. I just succeeded in scratching it up. By now, like 20 minutes had passed. I was beginning to panic. So, I went to my next door neighbor’s house and woke him up and asked for a wire coat hanger. I proceeded to push the window in enough to get the hanger in to pop the lock in just a few seconds–right as a cop rolled down the street. My panic was obvious, my kid was in the car, and I had id, so it was okay. Humiliating, but okay. My husband never forgave me, though, for the scratched on the window. It was ruined. We could never see out it again. =)
I’m so glad you’re smiling about this now — well, at least through emoticons. I would have been frantic, too. I do get your husband’s disappointment, though. A 1980 Camaro…?