The Great Key Incident of 1989 

I don't know how I got so far behind in blogging, but I did. It might be that I've been busy writing my blog for the local newspaper (not even one-billionth of a percent as fun as this one) or that I've been busy being un-friended on Book de la Face or I've been busy being recruiting by well-intentioned, caring people who want to save me or that I've been busy doing housework (which I have not been in the least bit)....but, in reality, I've been busy watching Dancing with the Stars and eating copious amounts of chocolate. I will now speak of the "Key in the Californian Car Trunk" incident of 1989. For some reason, it's on my mind. The wife and I were on vacation, basking in the California sun. It was 1989 and this was our first real vacation together. We had a beautious Geo Prism for a rental car, of which we decided was mainly plastic with some wheels. It served its purpose. We had done the L.A. to San Fran drive-the-coast trip, we'd been to Disneyland and every mall in the area and thus we had headed to Huntington beach to do some laundry and hang out by the ocean. Doing laundry on vacation is not very fun but it is important if you want clean undies and have run low. It's a beautiful day, warm and sunny. We are wearing our swim wear as we will be going to the ocean after finishing our laundry. I had my huarache sandals on (remember them?) and the wife had some form of surf socks on. We pull into the laundromat parking lot, unload the trunk and slam the trunk shut. Let me clarify: I slammed the trunk shut. I had a moment of terror: I wasn't holding the car key. I asked the wife if she has the key; she assured me I have it but I do not have it and so we are now both looking at the closed trunk. As the car is still open, I don't panic; I just open the back door and pull down the seat to get into the trunk..... ...but, the only thing that isn't plastic on this car is the very spot I'm looking. No, there is no access to the trunk; I am looking at cold, hard metal keeping me from accessing the trunk like I would do in my own car. A trickle of sweat sneaks down my temple. No, there is no trunk latch. No, there is no access. But, I think: "Hey! there's that plastic key in the glove compartment. We'll use that to open the trunk." I go to to glove box, pull out the plastic key and.... ....find out it has never been cut. It's just a big blob of uncut plastic with a key-shaped top. More sweat. "We'll call the car rental company!" This was in the days before cell phones and everyone used public telephones. At least we didn't have any trouble finding a pay phone. They even had phone books at the phones. I call but they are absolutely no help. This must have been in the day before customer service. The person was very rude and spit out that I would have to go get a key cut at a local car dealer. Are you friggin' kidding me? Like we know where that would be. Mr. Car Rental Man and I hang up on each other. I pull out the phone book. The wife and I are starting to get a little bit testy with each other. Like that's gonna help. I find a car dealer and ask if they can make the key. The guy says they can. He tells me it's about a mile from where we are standing. I thank him and tell him we are on our way. Of course, since we don't have a car, we walked. Walking a mile in huarache shoes isn't fun but it's not impossible. We get to the dealer in about 20 or so minutes.... ....only to find out their key-cutting machine is in pieces and is not operating. They cannot make us a key. The wife and I are much more testy at each other now. I ask if there is another dealer in the area; I am told there is one down the road. Being young (read: stupid), I didn't ask any questions. I got directions that sounded simple enough. THe guy called the other dealer to ensure they could make the key; this was confirmed. He tells them we are on our way. The wife and I go out the door and start hoofing our way to the next dealer. Words of wisdom: always ask HOW FAR it is to the next place, especially when you are walking. SEVEN MILES LATER, seven bloody feet, no-longer-speaking-to-each-other seven miles later, seven hot with no water miles later, we arrive. It took almost three hours for us to get there. We walk in to the dealer, hot, sweat and really pissy. Our feet really were bleeding and covered with blisters. We are parched. We are suicidal. Maybe homicidal. I say to the guy, "I"m here to get a key made." He looks at me like I'm from Mars. "The dealer of such and such called, confirmed you can make a key?" He looks at me and then says, "That was hours ago!" I agree with him. When he starts saying stupid things (of which I have blocked out) and he wants to know why it took so long for us to get there, I scream (and I do mean screamed):

"WE WALKED!" At this point, I burst into tears. Suffice it to say, he got us some water, made a key pronto, didn't charge us for the key, put us in an air conditioned car and drove us back to our key-in-the-trunk rental car. Trunk opened, with the rental key indeed in the trunk, he scooted off as fast as he could. After all, it was very evident that the wife and I were NOT speaking and NOT happy. We didn't go to the beach. We didn't do our laundry. We didn't talk to each other for the rest of the day. We could barely walk for the next week. Today, it's a funny story and we still have that extra key; I hang it on the Christmas tree every year. Then: not a funny story. Today, there is customer service and cell phones and cars with foldout seats with access to the trunk. Besides, no one wears huarache sandals any more. I know why.