I own a new car. I also live in the country and am married to an engineer. (The relevance of these facts will become obvious as this story progresses.) The car I chose is appropriate for the lifestyle, a small SUV with many of the bells, whistles, gongs and widgets that technology has to offer in today’s market. Automatic door locks are standard with a conveniently located door lock button on the driver’s door handle; right next to the window locks, individual window controls, and the mirror adjustments; nicely appointed and well-located within easy reach of the driver.
Last night, on my way home from work and under the approaching black cloud bearing down from the west, I decided to stop at my barn which is located some .5 miles from my house and 200’ vertical feet below, and feed the three mares that recognized the approaching vehicle and were now galloping towards the barn in joyful anticipation of their evening oats and sweet hay.
Parking the vehicle right outside of the alleyway of the barn, I quickly hopped out of my car wanting to beat the threatening deluge as I still had another horse, in another pasture and another barn to go before I got to the house. Habitually, I pulled the keys from the ignition in order to avoid that very annoying warning bell and tossed them unceremoniously into the console, right next to my charging cell phone.
Oats were hastily measured, vitamins added and distributed to the nickering trio. Rain began its solo drumming on the steel barn roof, indicating that the threatening cloud was at this moment going over us. Hay was disbursed in measure as the tapping of the rain drops began crescendoing. Double-checking each stall door to make sure they were securely latched, I bounded for the comfort and dryness of my car to head up the road to my last stop.
The handle snapped back out of my hand without so much as giving an inch. %$@!! The damned door was locked! Visible through the tightly closed window were my keys, right there by my cell phone, exactly where I had left them. Damn!
I darted out of the rain and back through the barn to get a look at the incoming weather to determine if this was just a cell blowing through or if I would have to make an uncomfortable and agonizing decision to walk home in the rain. A survey of the western sky revealed that this now full-blown, freezing downpour was not going to go away any time soon.
Perhaps I had been mistaken. I shot back out in the rain, this time checking each door individually, including the back hatch; tight as a tick. Nobody was going to get into this vehicle without a key or remote entry. Now what do I do? Here I sit in my dress clothes, in a drafty (did I mention ‘cold?’) barn, and a half mile from anyone’s house, with no cell phone and no umbrella. Thank God I took a vow of abstinence from high heel shoes many years ago. Walking in flat shoes across this fresh 1 ½ - minus gravel was tough enough.
For sure, I would need some kind of protection from the rain for this 15 minute walk (Remember the 200’ vertical? It’s all up hill from here.). Dawning a fresh and fashionable 50-pound, plastic feedbag, I set off for the hike to the house. No doubt, my husband would be near panic mode by now wondering where I was. For the briefest moment, I considered the palomino that was now contentedly munching her hay, but I didn’t want to have to ride her back in the rain as well.
Wind and rain pelted me every inch of the way. Thank heavens I had gone casual that day and was wearing a water-proof sports jacket. My hands were freezing from holding on to my sack and my legs were drenched by the time I got to the second horse and second barn, but I decided what the hell? I was wet and mad already. I may as well stop and feed the running, bucking, neighing buckskin on my way up the hill.
As I was just leaving the second barn, I spied the hubby in his car heading down the hill to feed, not knowing that I was there. He slammed on his brakes at the sight of a drenched bag lady wearing a feed sack. Laughing at my own stupidity, I hopped in the car with him; yes, he had his key to my car and we went to retrieve the SUV.
As we approached my car, I used the remote entry to unlock the doors and reminded Woody not to leave until I was secured in my car. A second walk in the rain would have ensured an unpleasant evening for both of us. The acknowledging flash of lights assured me the car was now unlocked.
Power walking through the torrent to the driver’s door, I confidently pulled on the handle, only to have it jerked out of my hand once again. Glaring at my husband in the dry car, I could see that he was curiously playing with his remote entry. Just like a %$ engineer! By now, my hair was soaked as well and I yelled at him to open the *&% door! Surprised, he looked up from his experimentations and obeyed what had now become my uncompromising demand. Entry was achieved; we both returned home where he showered me with hugs of sympathy and offered to fix me a drink. Good choice.
Of course, something like this would never happen on a clear, sunny day. Good ol’ Murphy is batting a thousand. What had happened was obvious: In my haste, I had accidentally hit the conveniently located door lock button upon exiting, thereby sealing my fate. Next time, I’ll take the keys with me. Lesson learned.
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cars, car convenience, walking in the rain, engineers, bag lady, door locks, horse, rain
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I learned the hard way that my car automatically locks itself within about 20 seconds of being turned off and all of the doors being shut. Needless to say I've invented several swear words because of it...
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