ON THE LIGHTER SIDE
ON THE LIGHTER SIDE
John Jordan is a freelance
writer from Chatham
and
co-owns a Bed and Breakfast
at the family farm.
Seems I am always looking for trouble or it looks for me. As I’m sitting
back in this wicker chair on the freshly painted verandah, I want to share
a story with you and I also want you to think how many times it has happened
to you.
Went to the hospital the other day. Oh, I’m not the sick one, I actually
was going back to give my better 7/8ths a ride back to the big house after
she had a test. So I carefully looked for a street parking spot, you know,
one where there was still money left in the meter. Well, I found one and
I put the fliver where it belongs and I thought I’d better lock it, just
in case someone wanted to steal my lunch.
Pushed down all the buttons, got out and closed the door. The sound of
the door closing this time sounded like I closed the door on a brand new
Mercedes Benz…cuhshunk. “Wait a minute, why is the engine running?” I
got the same sinking feeling I got when the old man heaved a 100 pound
bag of pig chop onto my shoulders.
Yes, I locked my keys in the car and left the engine running. Of all
the lame-brained stunts I have pulled, this is right up there. There were
a few hospital staff standing nearby in the smoker’s corner who somehow
heard my oaths and said with a laugh in their question, “Did you lock
yourself out?”
“No,” I retorted, “I just enjoy looking through my car windows at the
key in the ignition. Yes, I locked myself out!”
What to do?
Many thoughts were going through my head but the main one was I was supposed
to be at work about now. So I said to myself, I have auto club coverage
for this kind of thing, get on the horn and call them up. “Naw,” I said.
It will take them too long and I should be able to get this done shortly.
So I went inside to find my wife and tell her the good news. Then I slinked
by a coat closet and stole, yes I stole a coat hanger from the hospital
and I proceeded to MacGyver it into the tool of the moment; a car door
lock picker.
Back out to the parking spot with my trusty coat hanger in hand. “Where
in the Dickens is there a hole I can push this wire though? This car door
is so tight, not even greased lightning could slip through it,” I thought.
I finally found one little spot where I could start the wire through,
then I set to work pushing it toward the door lock.
Meantime, the onlookers started to gather. The smokers suggested I look
up the hospital security guard. They had seen him helping others with
the same predicament.
So I took a break from my MacGyver and went to talk to the security guard.
It was obvious to me that he had recently gotten a dressing down from
his superiors because when I told him the smokers outside said they had
seen him helping out women who had locked themselves out of their cars,
he denied ever doing such a thing. I bet he secretly gets his jollies
out of making people think he can open locked cars.
Back to my door picking. Time is marching on. Still no luck squirming
around with this coat hanger. And you have to ask yourself, why, when
your pants are down at your ankles, do all your friends and neighbours
show up to look and point out your foolishness. I met more people than
you can shake a coat hanger at who I knew or who alleged I knew them.
None of them had any solutions. The worst reacquaintance was when my auto
shop teacher from the last century (yes we had cars back then), walked
by and said “John, just grab a rock and get it over with!” Talk about
embarrassment and no, breaking the window with a rock was no solution.
OK, I had enough, I’m calling the auto club for service. So I rang them
up and the call centre guy assured me the tow truck would be there in
20 minutes. 20 minutes just flew by and of course no tow truck. Met more
friends, including a brand new neighbour to our community who seemed to
know me and suggested strongly that this yarn should be in the Corn Producer
magazine. Thanks, pal! Still no tow truck.
Hey, wait, what’s that. Looks like a tow truck coming. Yes it is, coming
slower than molasses in January and he’s pulling a broken down van. I
watch him drive around the block, looking lost. All he had to do was look
for the dummy under a hat with a bunch of smokers standing around laughing
at him. Finally he stops and comes walking over carrying what looks like
Minnesota Fats’ billiards cue all carefully wrapped.
“You the guy who called about being locked out?” he asked through his
toothless grin. How’d he guess? Beats me.
“Yes, I am sir, can you help me out?” I asked.
“S’ppose so,” and he went to work. He carefully unwrapped his tool set
on top of the hood of the fliver and then he started to brood around the
door so we couldn’t see what he was doing. Yeah, right, like I’m going
to tell the world all his secrets of the lock picking trade.
Down goes a wedge into the window, he then slides a long hooked rod down
the outside of the glass and pulls up and presto, the door is open to
the applause of the smokers and the rest of the twits who were watching.
This ever happened to you? It can and it will. I hope you take this yarn with you the next time you feel like locking yourself out.
