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  • Writer's pictureSarahHauer

Did I Really Do That? Yep.


"I thought you'd be really mad at me."


Huh? This was my response to what my daughter said to me last night after an interesting evening event.


She was out to check on a guy's house and walk his dog while he is out of town. That's her job. She walks dogs, checks on property, drives kids home from school, and babysits. House and dog walking was her job last night.


For this particular job, she likes to bring her puppy, Mabel, cause Mabel needs socializing, and this dog is an excellent teacher for the puppy. However, my daughter accidentally locked her purse in the car with the car keys in it. Bigger problem - Mabel was in the car too.


It was night. It wasn't hot out. Heat wasn't the problem. Mabel deciding to be destructive or needing to go potty was the potential issue. Thankfully, neither happened. But we didn't know that yet. Mabel was locked in, the keys were locked in, and she was locked out saying, "Oh, shit."


She did what any good child would do, she contacted her mother. Her mother, me, was in her pajamas, half asleep on the couch, trying to get the energy to go upstairs to bed when the messages started.


D - Can you unlock car from your phone?

M - Unlock? Ok. Why?

D - my keys are inside (note: she didn't mention Mabel)

D - and it locked

D - with keys inside (crying face emoji)

M - At first, I requested lock by accident. (I'm not the brightest bulb in the chandelier either)

M - Now requested unlock. Give it a minutes. Let me know if it works.

D - ok

D - it hasn't done anything


And it wasn't going to. Mazda was refusing to unlock the doors with the app with my phone so far away. I ran upstairs to change into clothes while I started calling people. She tried roadside assistance. Our history with roadside assistance for Mazda, AAA, and State Farm hasn't been wonderful, so I wasn't hopeful. I wasn't able to get a hold of aide from nearby sources.


Finally, roadside assistance found someone willing to leave their home on a dark night to help the girl out. All ended well. She was able to get Mabel and the keys safely out of the vehicle, do her job including walking the dogs together, and come safely home where she said as she climbed up the stairs, "I thought you'd be really mad at me."


"Why would I be mad at you?"


"Cause of Mabel. She was in the car too."


"Why didn't you tell me that?"


"Cause I thought you'd be mad."


I would not have been mad. I was upset because I was concerned with her safety, I was seriously stressed, but I was not mad. Let me tell you why I would not have been mad - I don't have the right.


Way, way back in the 1800s, no, in 1995 before cell phones and pay at the pump, when my my oldest son was barely into the toddler phase, I took him on a four hour road trip to visit a friend who had just had a brand new baby. As I was heading out the door, my husband handed me not one, not two, but three sets of car keys. Three. I had no history of locking keys in the car up to that point, and haven't since. Obviously, you can see where this is going.


Three and a half hours into the road trip, I stop for gas half an hour outside of town. There is nothing there but a gas station/truck stop. Thank God, it was a truck stop with a resident mechanic. I kid you not.


I pulled up to the line of pumps, looked back at my son sound asleep in his carseat in the back, and got out. The moment I heard the slam of the door behind me, I knew what I had done. One, two, three sets of car keys, my purse, and MY SON were all locked in. I immediately dropped to my knees, dropped my head into my hands, and said, "Oh, no!" I looked up ready to yell for someone to help me when I immediately saw this man approach - the resident mechanic. He was working on a semi near by and saw the whole thing.


This man had obviously been working hard all morning. This was around lunch time. He wore a grubby mechanics uniform, his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks, and he was wiping his greasy hands off with an even greasier towel.


As he approached me, a smile with numerous open spaces adorned his face. He went with the obvious. "Locked your keys in the car?"


"And my son. Can you please get me in?" I was pleading. I was desperate. I was taking note of the heat. This was early summer.


"Are these electronic locks? I might have to break the locks."


"I don't care. I don't want my son getting too hot."


He noted I had gotten under the shade of the canopy over the gas pumps. "Won't happen. Let me get my tools." And he went to work on my car.


Twenty minutes later as I sat on the slight step around the pumps with my head in my hands again holding back the tears, I heard the click of the lock. I jumped up and spun around to see him pull away from the car as he easily opened the door.


"And I didn't break the locks."


I was so excited, I didn't know what I was doing. I ran up to him, grabbed his face in my hands, and planted one right on his greasy, toothless grin. I threw him back and asked, "What do I owe you!" I was willing to give him every penny I had on me and hand over my credit cards too. Anything.


I looked to see his cheeks turn a bright red. He looked down at the ground, back up at me, waved his hand and yelled, "NOTHING! YOU DON'T OWE ME A THIING!" He walked away whistling.


I, on the other hand, was mortified. I had just kissed a complete stranger for getting me to my son on a warm, early summer day. I grabbed my boy, who slept through the whole thing, held him and a set of keys at the same time as I filled with gas, went in to pay, and continued my journey repeatedly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I wasn't able to laugh about it until I reached my friend's house and told her. She almost peed her pants laughing at me. Her response to me, "That would be you."


Why did my daughter think I would be mad at her for last night's issue? How could I? The best I could do was hope she didn't kiss the guy who got Mabel out for her.


Have you ever been in that position where you know instantly you have no right to get on someone's case for doing what you have done yourself? It's a humbling experience. If you have and care to share, tell me about it. Shoot me an email at humorinchaos@gmail.com.


Thanks for reading!


Sarah

 

Follow me on YouTube, Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter @ Humor in Chaos




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