Of Car Keys and Dog Puke

The dogs and I are in the doghouse. 

Again.

Technically I'm in more trouble than they are, but we're all treading lightly at this moment. (Freckles has done nothing wrong but she is associated with me and sister Lucy, so she gets dragged into our messes.)

The problem started when the wife and I were off to visit her family in Cheeseland today. I had the wife's car keys in one hand and my car keys in the other. I was going to hand her the set for her car but got distracted, sat down, shoved the key in the ignition, and....

....you know where this is going, right?  

....I shoved the Saturn key into the Mazda ignition. 

Let me be the first to tell you--a Mazda ignition does NOT let go of Saturn keys. It is in there and it is in there to stay. Two words: Death grip.

Now, if this had been the first time I had ever done this, I might have gotten a bit of sympathy. 

If it had been only the second time I had done this, I would have gotten the silent treatment but of a very short duration. 

I am humiliated to tell you this is the fourth time I have done this. 

FOURTH.TIME.

I pounded my hands angrily and repeatedly on the steering wheel. This, of course, does not help the key come out. No, it is in there, as if there is cement in the ignition. Super-Glued in place. We don't have time for this and I am horrified that I am going to have to call a locksmith.

Again.

The first two times I had both car keys on the same ring, so that was a little more understandable. I blocked out what happened the third time. I have no excuse this time except that Mars is in Retrograde and that must account for something. Or, maybe Saturn is in retrograde. It is a Saturn key, after all.

We take the Saturn to travel to Land of Cheese--using the spare Saturn key--and leave the Mazda-wrong-keyed-car to sit in silence. Despite not being able to do anything about the problem, I fret about this the entire trip. I fret so much that I ask the wife to leave early. I started to perserverate on ways to get the key out. My thoughts become slightly hysterical. I am just SURE Home Depot will have some fun kind of tool that will let me get that damn key out. We left the family party early.

I sink lower on the shit list. It is a SILENT trip home. Not a word, not the radio, nothing.

Home Depot doesn't have anything of the sort; in fact, the man looked kind of horrified when I asked. I'm not sure if his horror is that the key is stuck in the ignition or that I'm asking for a lock-picking-kind of tool kit. He suggested WD-40. Maybe he thought I was going to break into someone's house with this lock-picking tool kit. Maybe he was afraid of me because I did look a little frenzied. Okay, I looked a lot frenzied.

So, we get home and I greet the dogs and....I noticed Lucy smells like puke. That's not unusual in itself, as she does tend to vomit more often that I would suspect a dog would do so....it's just really bad timing if that is puke that I smell. I sniff her and know--she has puked while we were gone. I look down the stairs--she tends to puke on the new rug (why puke on the old rug when there is a new one?)--and there, almost glowing, are two large red stains of old puke. Red from the luscious treats she has eaten. Red, crusty puke that has had time to set into the new carpeting. 

I start shoveling Girl Scout cookies into my mouth. We are all is so much trouble. More cookies. More sweating. The wife is on a meltdown. A silent meltdown, but one nonetheless.

While she is cleaning puke, I am on line trying to find out how to get the Saturn key out of the Mazda ignition without having to call a locksmith. They have EVERYTHING on the Internet, don't they? I google like there is no tomorrow. Most of the sites I read are of no help--basically, they indicate that I'm screwed. I visit a few locksmith sites and recognize some of the tools the last three locksmiths used....but, I do not have access to such tools.

It will be a long, cold, silent night. The dogs and I will huddle together for safety and warmth.

It was time for drastic measures. 

I went to the basement, dug through every tool, every piece of metal, every piece of art stuff I owned. I grabbed the tool kit (thanks to my sister we actually have a tool kit), a tool from my ceramics class in 1983 (I'm not kidding) and a piece of a picture framing thingy made of very, very thin metal. I marched out to the garage, took the pliers and tried to pull the piss out of the key.

It didn't budge. 

I shoved the little piece of metal frame thingy into the ignition and made a bit of headway but still the key didn't budge. (It's kind of like pulling that sword out of the rock story.)

I say a quick prayer to the Baby Jesus and take the tool from Ceramics class in hand. This is the final opportunity for glory. 1983 was a good year so I am feeling confident. I loved ceramics and this ceramics tool served me well over the years. I shove that puppy in there like there's no tomorrow, give a yank....

....both the key and the tool come flying out! 

I weep in glory and proudly hold the key above my head as if I have just won the Nobel Peace Prize, a gold in the Olympics, the Disco Ball trophy for Dancing with the Stars. I run quickly up the stairs and dangle the keys in the wife's face. I am saved!

Thankfully, the wife does not slap the keys out of the way. I get a scowl and a nod of acknowledgement. Good enough for me. 


As for Lucy, I gave her a bath so she no longer stank of dog puke. I am forgiven. Life is good. Mars is out of Uranus and my anus, retrograde be damned.



For the record: once Lucy's bath was done, I marked my Mazda key with bright silver paint. Lots of silver paint. 

A fifth time is not an option. I can't keep Lucy from puking but I can try and keep myself from doing stupid things.....

Well, THIS particular stupid thing.  For other things, all bets are off. Girl Scout cookies for everyone.