lock out with your sock out
Remember that time I locked my keys in the house? Yeah, that was funny. Know what else was funny? The other night when I locked my keys in my car.
Brian, Pammer and I went skating at Schenley Park (adult skate on Saturday night — I suspect if they decided to do an ID check, 90 percent of those in attendance would’ve been tossed for being 16 or 17). All was well until we decided to leave and felt around in my pockets. Nothing.
I freaked briefly, wondering if they were actually in the car or lost somewhere else (it was dark, so we couldn’t see much inside). All this was complicated by the fact that Pam’s keys were also in my car.
I called AAA, and a friendly dude with a tow truck showed up in short order. It took him quite a while of playing around with wedges and glorified coat hangers before he was able to unlock one of the back doors.
The more long-term damage? In the process of trying to undo the front locks, he seemingly permanently damaged them. The passenger door doesn’t unlock or open at all now, and the driver side only unlocks from the outside. Fortunately, I was able to open it after opening the window and unlocking it manually that night when I got home; the “uh oh” moment of realizing I couldn’t unlock it from the inside was pretty funny, given that I thought I’d be getting in and out of my car via the back doors indefinitely.
Currently, my car has unlocked doors at all times so that I can be sure I’ll get back in, so if you’re a car thief interested in a Geo that’s worth less than a grand and that you may or may not be able to get back out of once you get into it, get in touch and I’ll let you know where it’s parked.
On an unrelated note, to accompany me on a drive to the parents’ last week, I grabbed a mix CD I made in late 2001 (or perhaps very early 2002). It quite handily sums up my confusion at the time, and includes a few tracks whose artists I’m not sure of. This mix involves, but it not limited to: Q and not U (has held up very well; I should whip those albums out), Cibo Matto (indicative of the late ’90s, though perhaps not something I’d listen to regularly), Vice Squad (has not held up, or perhaps was never good to begin with), I Hate Myself (would have held up if not for that screaming dude), Tegan & Sara (not as into it as I was then).
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