This afternoon I headed out to the store to get tonight's dinner, and while I was out I decided to sneak into Epilogue Books in Ballard on the way. So I pulled over, put 'er in Park, and hopped out. Epilogue Books was closed. Everything is closed; it's Easter Sunday.
On the way back to the car, cursing Christianity, I reached for my keys. Not there. When I got to the car, I saw them dangling from the ignition. I bent down; yes, the engine was still running. That's a photograph of them up there.
My spare key is in my wallet. I patted my ass; no wallet. No cell phone. The only thing in any of my pockets was a single dirty sock, red.
I know you think that the life of Fnarf must be one of unceasing glamor and fascination, but the reality is this: standing on the corner in the pouring rain, locked out of my running car, penniless and brainless; nothing but the suddenly inadequate jacket on my back.
No coathangers happened to be lying around, but I did spy a chunk of brick in the entry of a nearby building. I could break out my own window! But if someone saw me, how would I prove the car was mine without identification? How would I avoid an expensive ticket for driving without a license?
I walked home. It took me about half an hour, up and over the hill. When I got home, I had a brief meltdown when I couldn't find my wallet there either; could I have locked it in the car? My mental fog was so thick I couldn't rule it out. But no, there it was; but of course no key was inside. Do I even have a spare key? How would I know, I don't have enough brainpower to turn my goddamn car off when I park! I couldn't find my cell phone either (still haven't).
Nancy drove me back down there, and sat patiently with me while I phoned Triple-A with her phone, and we waited for over an hour for the guy in the truck to show up. He had it open in less than five seconds.
10 comments:
dammit, man, i love you.
Yikes, I thought I was having a miserable day but you win.
I can just picture you walking home in the rain, poor thing.
I had a friend who after shopping forgot where she parked. She finally found her car only to see that her keys were hanging in the ignition.
She found a guy to break into the car and then suddenly realized that it was not her car at all, just the same model and color, OOPS!
Brain fogs are weird! I'm glad you're home safe and warm with Mrs. Fnarf.
Wow, I'm just happy that the missing red sock finally turned up.
Eesh, what a spectacularly awful turn of events. So sorry. But it DID make for a funny blog post.
This book is supposed to be a great guide for improvised lock-picking.
Why not just plug up the exhaust pipe? Wouldn't that stop it?
You drive? You should be ashamed of yourself!
uh, what was the sock in your pocket for?
The sock was there because...I am insane.
Mr. Poe, I put fewer than 1,000 miles on my car, and when I drive I assume a Christlike posture, so I have a dispensation. But, just to be sure, I AM ashamed. Always ashamed.
I wasn't being serious, but okay. Wuvz.
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