File this one under the this kind of thing only happens to me department.
So, it’s after 3:00AM and I’m trying to finish up this Policies page for a client. I’m upstairs at a beautiful bed and breakfast and I’ve got a shaky WiFi connection to someone’s network. It�s really horrible. I’m also developing a nic-fit.
I decide to go downstairs on the front porch and smoke, hopefully with a more reliable signal. Getting out front, I’m surprised by the amount of traffic for this time of day in such a tiny town. I chase down a solid light on my wireless card and end up sitting on the banister on the far side of the house, my back resting on a column. Finally, I get to work.
I’m about half-way through my task when I hear a trunk slam shut. I see a sedan parked in the parking lot cattycornered to the Inn. There’s a person walking my way. I turn back to my computer and only notice slightly that it’s starting to rain and I wonder where this person’s going. I’m also glad they didn’t ask me for anything.
A little while later. I hear someone yelling, “Would you please help me?!” It’s coming from the direction of the car, only this time there�s a red Pontiac of some kind and a lady standing by the driver window. She’s about 150 feet away so I can’t really tell what’s going on. She’s not yelling like she’s in danger, more like she’s annoyed. It’s about 3:30 at this point. I think to myself, “Hmmm, maybe I should get my phone and call for help.” So this I do on my way over to the car. When I get there I understand the woman’s problem.
It was her slamming the hood of the car shut earlier. That car had broken down and she walked over to her sister’s house and borrowed her car. She stopped back by to get some things out of her broken-down car and had somehow managed to lock her keys in the Pontiac. With it running. And stuck in reverse. So she was holding the car so it wouldn’t roll backwards. Good grief!
So, I run back to the Inn, hop in the Beetle and drive over and park behind her car to keep it from going anywhere and so she can let go. She won’t let go. Meanwhile, the little sprinkle of rain is now a legitimate downpour. This lady is in jeans and a t-shirt. No hat, no jacket, and she’s getting soaked. I dig up the Venetian umbrella Tam bought when her Dad took us on the extravagant cruise two summers ago. So, the cop finally arrives and I’m standing there holding an umbrella over this lady. I can only imagine what he thought was going on. I try to explain it to him, but Stacy (we’ve introduced each other by this point), cuts me off. He listens with a kind of blank look on his face and pulls his cruiser around to the front of the Pontiac and gets out all manner of tools to break in.
He’s got a wedge and a slim-Jim. No good. So he disappears into his car and comes back with this crazy pouch with a little hose sticking out that’s got a balloon squeezer thingy attached at the end. He shoves this thing between the roof of the car and the car door. He inflates the pouch which gives him enough room to fish for the lock control with a long, blue, metal stick. Stacy and I go to the other side of the car with a flashlight and try to help him find the lock. He gets it after a