Jingle Blogs, Jingle Blogs...

Jingle All The Way oh what fun it is to blog!


I was driving home yesterday afternoon and what to my wondering eyes to appear but $1.67 gas!

Okay. I kind of needed gas anyway and I would love to “only” pay $1.67 a gallon. So. I pulled off and reminded myself what side of the car my tank is on, before I got out of the car I got my credit card out of my purse and as I was getting out of the car I locked the door. Anywhere in there do you see “took keys from ignition”?. No?, neither did I. I knew it though, from the minute I shut the door and went to swipe my card. I felt it. First I checked my coat pocket because of course I habitually remove the keys from the ignition after I turn off the car. I did turn the car off. Yay me.

So. I stand there for a moment and remember that I do have an extra key on the car, this is not the first time I’ve locked myself out of a car - its not even the first time I locked myself out in the last few months. The key was not where it was supposed to be. But maybe I put it back in the wrong place?! No. Moron. I didn’t. It was not where it was supposed to be because I did not put it back the last time this happened, MORON.. I stood next to the car and

1. Beat myself up.
2. Beat myself up.
3.Beat myself up.
4. Swore to make about 37 copies of my key and hide them all over the damn car as well as keep one taped to my body at all times.

This was not getting the car open. I had to take action. I had to admit to first being an idiot and then find someone to help me out of what I had done. I go inside and ask the girls working the counter if they had a bent hanger.

”No, hangers” one had a friend who is a locksmith and she would call him, but “he’s was out of town today”. Great. Then I went back and looked again for the key I now knew was not in any way on that car. Okay, find another way... All the windows were closed, the many doors were all securely locked. Damn vehicle! I tried talking to it:


Hi. Look, I know you’re an American car. I know you have issues with not being a Honda. I feel you on that. We can’t all be Hondas. Just help me out here. Let one of your windows open a little, not much, just a little, enough to let me slide something down inside ( when I find something to slide down inside!) And poke the little lock thingy. I promise it isn’t going to hurt (much). Try to make one of your doors open!, I bet you work hard to keep those doors shut, just let one open a little, or just let me pry the door open enough for me to slip my arm in. Puh-leeeesssss! Let one of your windows go down just a little! Punk out on your anti-thievery protocols you poorly made American Car! I know you can! I know you want to!...

I went back inside again. We called the sheriff to see if they would help out a stranded female motorist. No they would not. The highway patrol wasn’t interested unless there was a young child involved and no, pets do not count. The gas station was outside the city limits so the cops wouldn’t come out at all. Bastards.

The counter girl remembered that she keeps a bent hanger in her trunk so she can get into her car when she locks herself out. By this time the smaller of the two attendants came out to try to open the car. She has small fingers and she said she has gotten other cars open. She wasn’t small enough and the car was not cooperating.

I called a locksmith. He came, I gave him just about all my cash and I went on my way. For the cheapest gas I’ve seen in a while it was the most expensive fill up ever.

PS.- Hi Mom! Don’t tell Dad.