In my long string of escapades, I have managed, now, three times to have to break into my own car.
During the last week, Marc, Sarah and I had decided to head downtown. Our first stop was Thomas Hinds Tobacconist, on Carlton st., so we could inquire for some pipe filters and buy some tobacco. We found a meter reasonably close to the store, but we had no quarters. Reluctantly we put in a loonie, but we did not need the hour time. Well, after our little jaunt to the Tobacconist, we had returned to the car and hopefully on to bigger and better things.
As we approached the Tercel, I sped up my walk until I was staring at the dashboard, mouth agape, and my brain not responding. The keys were sitting there, in perfect centre on the dashboard. “Where are the keys?” I asked Sarah. “I don’t know,” she told me. “Where are the keys?” I asked Marc. “I don’t know,” he said. “Well, they are right there, right there! On the dashboard.” I said to them both, pointing to the middle of the windshield.
Coming to grips really quickly, I decided to find some kind of institute to assist us. We walked to the church that was adjacent to where we parked, and we had to walk around to the opposite side to find an open door. Once inside, all the other doors were closed, but if we needed to use a restroom, there were the appropriate unlocked doorways. Feeling a little miffed that the operating hours of God’s house had just ended as we had arrived, we walked around to find another source of assistance. We walked to the Pandora hotel, I believe, and asked the man at the front desk if he had a coat hanger. Being the only staff there, and even having a half dozen people in his lobby, the man went to find us a hanger, which he presented to us, unbent and ready to pry through a locked door.
We all returned to the car, and Marc and I had begun to work at it. I have had the previous experience of prying open that very same car twice before, once for having the keys left on the backseat, in a Washington State High School; the other time in the trunk, after a good friend of mine changed into clothes for digging. Both times, we had to pry back the weather stripping, and use a coat hanger to do the deed. This time was no different.
As Marc and I, with our masculine mindsets in gear, were working away at this; Sarah was standing by, taking pictures of our deed. A complete stranger had approached us at one point to offer her CAA service to assist us. Now, being the men that we are, Marc and I (in all sincerity) insisted that no assistance was needed, since we were so very close to unlocking the vehicle. Well, the stranger held on for a little longer, apparently, she and Sarah had their doubts on the efficiency of man, and we had to exclaim a second time that we almost had it unlocked. This time Sarah, reluctantly agreed, and the kind-hearted stranger had left. Not too long after that, the door was opened to a bunch of cheering. Now I have a coat hanger in my trunk, in case someone else will lock their keys in their car. I have a lot of experience now, too.
We only ended up using about forty minutes of our allotted hour, but it turns out that it was put to good use, anyhow.
- pictures taken by Sarah
What could I possibly contribute to the literary world that has not already been said? Do I have in me an original thought that has not passed through the mind of someone before me? A thousand poets have taken the words from my hands before I have ever been given the chance to hold them. A thousand musicians have put their emotions to music before I have ever been able to learn to do so. Each time I think that I have been given some kind of isolated experience, I realize that many people can relate to me an uncannily similar tale, a remarkable relation that I can understand. Yet, in my quiet impudence, I insist that “No, what I feel right now has never been felt before.”