(Please Note: Today's blog entry is actually a true story. It happened some years ago, and I thought I'd share it here, as I am trying to be more disciplined about my writing. I dedicate this to Julie R., who artfully played the role of the up-till-now anonymous mom.)
I was using my dad's big, dusty,
less-than-sporty work van today, and I was at Walgreen's, getting ink for my
printer. I had to lock the van because
all of his tools were in it, right? So,
also, today is not a "beautiful" day for me (no makeup, bandana on my
head...NOT pretty, you get the idea...).
I get into the store and I notice that there is a "mom" I used
to know from the kid's former school, and of COURSE she is perfectly put together,
so I spend an extra 25 minutes HIDING in Walgreen's because I look like the
Hunchback of Notre Dame and I haven't seen this woman in 3 or 4 years. She is apparently on a long-term spree, but I
finally manage to get my stuff and skulk out of the store un-noticed (by
her...I'm sure that the clerks were beginning to wonder about me...). So I get to the van, and I put the key in the
lock. It does not unlock. I try again.
And again. I cry a little, and
wonder why I bothered getting out of bed this morning. I try again in case something miraculous has
happened during my breakdown. Nope. Still locked.
So, I grab my bag and go BACK INSIDE, where the mom I knew is STILL
shopping (holy cow, it's just Walgreen's, not the mall!!!), so I use my
super-secret-agent skills and manage to continue avoiding her in my quest for a
phone. The lady behind the makeup
counter says that the only phones available are able to make calls only within
the store. She says quite cheerily that
I could walk over to the health pavilion across the street and call. She thinks.
No guarantees, of course. I'm
fairly certain that this is not accurate, that somewhere, sometime in the
history of Walgreen's, someone has, in fact, called out. Believe me, if it is true about the phones,
and I don't get into the van soon, they're gonna wish they had outside
lines... Anyway, I go back out and
circle the van. I try the key
again. I look into the windows, which
reveal my sandwich warming nicely in the sun, as well as all the tools which I
could use to solve my dilemma, if only they weren't LOCKED IN THE VAN!!! I decide that there is no alternative but to
beg, so I dash into the store, narrowly missing the mom, and ask the
photo-clerk if maybe she has a cell phone that I could use, really quickly, to
call my dad. Guess what? She reaches under the counter, finds a phone
quite easily, doesn't even dial "9" first, and whip, snap, pop! There's my dad, on the phone. WOW.
"No," he's saying... "There aren't separate
"start" and "unlock" keys
(&^%$!!!), just the one
plastic-topped black key. It shouldn't
turn too hard. If nothing else, you can
get a wire hanger between the sliding rear windows and unlock the back and
crawl in. Let me know if that
works." I don't have the heart to
tell him that wire hangers are passe, everyone who is ANYONE uses plastic. I mean, c'mon! I trudge outside, arguing with the voices in
my head, and do the round-the-van key tour again, with the same results. I just want to go home. I have stuff to do. The house is empty, free of husband and
kids. This is not a Monday. Why is this happening to me??? As I stand by the passenger side door,
muttering to myself and planning how I'll probably be spending the rest of my
life in the Walgreen's parking lot, an older gentleman in the car next to me
asks if I can't get in. To my credit, I
do NOT say "YA THINK???" He
very graciously gets out of his car, and takes the key from me, ready to give
it the old college try. He asks me,
"Is this the right key? Is it this
gray one?" Nope, nice try, guy, but
the black key is the one...theoretically.
About 10 minutes of trying every door and the rear hatch and he says
"Are you sure that this is the right key?
This is not the right key.
See? It won't even go all the way
into the lock." "No," I
say, "that's the key to my dad's van," and even as I make that claim,
I eye the keys which he is holding, the keys with which I have tried for the
past 45 minutes or so to unlock this van, and I begin to wonder: "Hmmmm, why do you suppose dad has my
house key and the keys to my jeep and my Speedway Frequent Customer tag on his
key ring?" Oh no. So, I look into my purse, and find another
key ring. It looks suspiciously like my
dad's, and completely unlike the very familiar-to-me-now set which I have been
carrying in my hand this whole time. The
gentleman takes the new key from my hand, lets me into my father's van with
ease, says, "What would you do without me, Baby?," hands me the keys
and hugs me, all without even laughing.
Tomorrow I take the bus.
How was your day?
