The amazing story of how I almost stole a car
Every time my parents visit, someone inevitably asks me what kind of car they drive. I never know. “A grey old people car” I say (sorry Mom and Dad, but it’s true). This past weekend, when I flew to Michigan to participate in the celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary (!!!), I found myself driving that same car.
I was running errands and came out of the grocery store to find that their little remote unlocking mechanism wasn’t working. I kept pushing the button, waving the thing around in the air trying to find the “sweet spot.” Alas, it was to no avail. Its battery must be dead. No sweat, I’ve got the key.
But there’s no obvious key hole! There’s a little black button on the handle, which I press a bunch of times, and something that looks like a plastic cover with a picture of a key on it. I’m confident the key hole is behind that plastic cover thing. I’m on all fours in the parking lot, groceries all but forgotten, fiddling with the thing, trying to figure out how to pop it open so I can insert the key. I even try the handle several more times in case, you know, it might have magically unlocked while I was fiddling the gadget.
I just can’t figure it out. I’m close to calling my parents at their anniversary party to ask if there are any tricks, but I’m determined to solve this problem alone. That darn car is not smarter than me! In frustration, I press a bunch of buttons on the remote un-locking gadget while I stand up to think.
While standing, my eyes focus on the inside of the car. Which, of course, is completely unfamiliar. I glance to my right, where there’s a grey old people car with its trunk open and lights blinking. Oh. I grab my groceries and slink over to the next row of cars and slide with humiliating ease into the correct car.