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 getting ready to visit her family in
Cheddarlands. 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, an eye roll and a shake of the head. Perhaps a slight laugh at the absurdity of my action.
If it had been the second time I had done this, I would have gotten an eye roll, a more pronounced shake of the head and the
silent treatment of a painful, well-earned duration.
If it had been the third time I had done this, the wife would've given me a scowl, accompanied by words of distain... followed by muttering and stomping away in a most angry manner. That silent treatment would be more than painful.
How do I know this to be true?
Because I have experienced those things. 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.
I don't want to tell the wife.
I don't want to tell her at all.
Fourth time!
We don't have time for this and I
am horrified that I am going to have to tell the wife AND I'm going 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. As you can imagine, this wins me no points.
I perseverate 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. I can get that key out. Google and YouTube will help me get that key out. I can't stop worrying about it.
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.
Worse, I drive to Home Depot instead of Home Home. I can't go home until I try to get some tools of which will help me get the keys out. Yup. I drive to Home Depot and the wife is stuck in the car and she is NONE.TOO.PLEASED.
I run in to the store, frantic and panicked and on a mission. I'm looking for someone to help me. I don't even know what to ask but I'm going to ask and I'm going to get what I need so I don't need to call a locksmith.
I find some guy in an orange apron. I almost accost him because I'm so frantic. I'm not sure I'm speaking English as a spit out my tale of woe. His stare tells me everything I need to know. One, he's afraid of me. Two, Home Depot doesn't have anything of the sort.
No, Home Depot doesn't carry things to help people like me pick a car ignition; in fact, the man looks kind of
horrified when I ask. 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
suggests WD-40. Maybe he thought I was going to break into someone's house
with this lock-picking tool kit.
Maybe he is afraid of me because I do look a
little frenzied. Okay, I look a lot frenzied. Deliriously frenzied.
Empty handed, we head home. Silent. No radio. No nothing.
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.
It's then I realize this is really bad. Not now. Not today. I'm afraid to look. Don't look. Oh, I have to look.
I look down the
stairs to where the wife has put a new rug. A nice rug. A nice, new rug. I look there because I know Lucy would think: why puke on the old rug when there is
a new one?
I look, pit in my stomach... ....and there it is, in all its glory, almost glowing with pride...
...two large red stains of old puke.
Red, dark red, see from a mile away dark red puke stains 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.
Why the new carpet?
Why today?
I need more cookies.
The wife is silently livid. A silent
meltdown, but one nonetheless. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. She grabs the cleaning products. I say a silent prayer to St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, as this is a hopeless cause. I made her come home early... for this? There is no way that red puke is coming out of her beautiful new carpet.
While she is cleaning puke, I jump on-line in desperation 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 is about to be a long, cold, silent night. The dogs and I will huddle together
for safety and warmth.
It is time for drastic measures.
I go to the basement, dig through every tool, every piece of metal, every
piece of art stuff I own. I grab 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 march out to the garage, take the pliers and try to pull the piss out of
the key.
It doesn't budge. Of course it doesn't. It's not that kind of day.
I shove the little piece of metal frame thingy into the ignition and make a
bit of headway but still the key doesn't budge.
It's beginning to feel like the 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. I look at those ceramic tools from 1983 and think about how 1983 was a good year. 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 just about weep in glory.
I 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! (Or, so I foolishly hope.)
Thankfully, the wife does not slap the keys out of my hands. Thankfully, all I get is a scowl and a
nod of acknowledgement.
Good enough for me.
The rug looks no worse for the wear. Thank you, St. Jude. I don't know how the wife got those stains out of the carpet, but for the moment it looks like she has succeeded. I better go out and buy a lottery ticket.
As for Lucy, I gave her a bath so she no longer stank of dog puke. It appears 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. I'm sure to do all sorts of stupid things as I crawl through this called like. For other stupid things, all bets are off.
Trust me. There aren't enough Girl Scout cookies and carpet cleaning products in the world for me to shove the wrong key in the wrong ignition for a fifth time. Not even close. It is beyond what St. Jude can do for me.
********************
The next day, I ate the remaining Girl Scout Cookies and put another coat of silver paint on the key.
St. Jude is proud.
I'm proud.
Saturn in Retrograde is proud.
My car ignition is proud.
The wife? I didn't ask.
I may be stupid but I'm not dumb.
********************
No comments:
Post a Comment