I bought my new car a week before this series of unfortunate events happened. I hope you won’t think me totally incapable of circulating among normal people after reading my sad tale.
This gloomy, rainy Thursday I kissed my dear husband goodbye and headed off to work. It’s about a half-hour drive. Because of the downpour, I thought about skipping my usual trip through the local fast food restaurant but decided to go anyway. Not only did I order a large iced drink but for some reason I decided to spice things up and added a cup of oatmeal along with my drink.
I placed my order and drove around to the pick-up window where the young man handed me my bag and I drove away. It sounds simple enough, right? Wrong. Once I pulled back into traffic I decided to check the sack to make certain there was a straw inside for my soft drink. Nothing. Of course that would have been asking for too much, to actually receive everything in one go through, so now I’m annoyed. I’d either have to pull back into the long line at the drive-through or park my car and go into the diner to get a straw.
Back at the drive-in, I took one look at the line and decided to run inside for the straw. I parked, locked the car in a torrential downpour and dashed for cover. The only thing I took in were my car keys since I only planned on running in and right back out. Still sounds simple, right? Wrong again. I ran in, grabbed the straw, ran back out and put the key to the door lock, but it wouldn’t go in. The car had four doors but only the driver’s door had a key slot. I tried and tried to get the key in but no matter what I did it wouldn’t fit. Drenched and close to tears I gave up and returned to the restaurant.
My husband was thirty minutes away and my purse was in the car. I stood there thinking he’s going to kill me if I call him and he drives all this way only to put his key in the door and unlock it for me. Standing by the phone, a puddle forming at my feet, I finally decided I had no choice but to call and ask my hubby to come out and rescue me.
I called , preparing myself for the inevitable manly interrogation. Had I done everything humanly possible to get the key into the keyhole? Are you using the right key? You Sure?
Thoughts swirled round my head as the phone rang. It wasn’t rocket science, the key wouldn’t go in. I was upset and worried about why it wouldn’t work – never mind getting the third degree. He picked up and the expected questions came; damned annoying they were too. Since I was the one in need of rescuing I answered my interrogator, head bowed, feet soaked and face hot with embarrassment.
The restaurant’s air conditioning was blowing at full force. I sat and waited near the door, avoiding eye contact with people; damp, cold and worried. For a long thirty minutes I stared out the window at my new car. A muddle of thoughts ran through my head. I had enough time to mull over every possible scenario. None of them were good. Finally the lightbulb came on: there had been some sort of malfunction and we’d have to call a tow truck to take my broken auto to the dealership. Once I knew it wasn’t my fault I felt much better.
My husband finally showed up so I walked out and stood behind my car waiting for him to come over, give me a hug and confirm my diagnosis. He parked about five parking places away. I waited and waited. A touch of anger warmed my cheeks, even though the rain. I watched my crazy man stop at someone else’s automobile and look inside it. I cringed behind my car, large rain drops banging on the roof, thinking he’d better move away before someone in the restaurant saw him prowling around and called the police.
After a moment or two he walked to the rear of the other car, called over and told me my car was unlocked. I froze for a moment, shocked and staring at him as I tried to figure out what the heck he was talking about. I’m sorry to say it took me a while to realize I had been trying to get into someone else’s car all along.