Many years ago, when the local Roman Catholic Churches began consolidating, parishioners had to travel ever farther to attend Mass. My brother was a lifelong Catholic. He would often drive our neighbor and her son to and from Church about ten blocks away. From time to time Anne would also ask for a ride to her and her son’s Doctor’s Appointments or grocery shopping, etc. Anne was a long-time friend and neighbor. Over time, it fell to me to use my brother’s car to run errands for both him, Anne, and her disabled son. I became their chauffeur.
Anne was an old friend, and by old, I mean she was in her eighties, about 88 when the following incident occurred. True stories are the best kinds of stories. It was only rarely that Anne’s large disabled son was not riding along. I drove Anne, minus her son, to the local Target store to get some prescriptions filled. There were no Handicapped Parking spaces open at the time, so I dropped her off at the front door. I circled the parking lot and parked at the side of the driveway with my Emergency Flashers on and with a clear view of the Target store’s exit.
When Anne emerged from the store, I pulled up right beside her so she didn’t have to walk far to the car. I rolled down the passenger side window and called to her from the driver’s seat: Anne! Anne! Anne! She looked around and walked right past the front of the car and toddled down the parking lot aisle. I followed behind her in the car shouting: Anne! Anne! Anne!
Anne came up to a stranger’s car parked with the trunk open, placed her bag of purchases in the trunk, and slammed the lid. I got out and had her sit in the car and found an empty spot to park. I walked over to a guy standing next to the car in question to explain what Anne had done.
The guy was busy fishing about the driver’s side window seal with a bent coat hanger, trying to unlock his door. He’d locked his keys in his car with Anne’s purchases still in the now closed trunk.
There was a fire truck sitting nearby. Fire trucks can’t fit in the usual parking lot spaces so they park on the drive while shopping. I walked over and asked one of the firemen for help getting the guy’s car unlocked. I was hoping they might have a Slim Jim device. He said they didn’t do that. I then asked him if I could borrow his cellular phone to call the police. The policeman said they couldn’t do it either. We’d have to call a locksmith.
A friend of the frustrated car’s owner got out a large screwdriver and jimmyed the trunk lock, breaking it open. When we drove away, the poor bastard was still fishing about with the coat hanger trying to unlock his car door.
twentiethman 