This morning I borrowed my mother-in-law’s car, since my car drove its last mile yesterday. I got a prime parking spot at Starbucks, where I could see a regular (I think his name is Ken) sitting at a little table by the window. I ordered my hot chocolate from Jesse, who was involved in last week’s most embarrassing moment where I complained about the new policy to warm up pastries even when the customer doesn’t want them warmed up, and who also wrote 135 degrees on my cup instead of 110 (first world problem alert!) I picked up my 135 degree hot chocolate and returned to my car. Well, my mother-in-law’s car.
I have never had a car with remote keys, so I can never remember which button does what on my mother-in-law’s car. I pressed the button I thought would unlock it, and nothing happened. I pressed it twice. Nothing. I pressed a different button. The car honked. I pressed each button once, trying the door handle after each, and pressed each button twice and tried the door handle. Nothing.
Finally I remembered that I also had, imagine this, an actual key.
It didn’t work.
“What kind of car doesn’t have a key to open the door?” I wondered.
Isn’t that what you would wonder too? No? That’s because you’re not an idiot.
After more honking and silent swearing, I heard a tap on the Starbucks window. I looked up, and there was Ken, pointing to the left. I turned around to the other silver sedan behind me, which had apparently been honking at me to get my attention all along. Thanks Ken. See you tomorrow.