It's lunchtime, and I have just observed a yoga class and run a quick errand. I load my bag into Marilyn's trunk and slam the lid, then very quickly realize that I have dropped my keys inside.
It is at this moment I begin to revert back to my teenage self, as I tend to do in a crisis, however small. I pull on the trunk uselessly a few times, whimpering. I yank on the door handles. I huff and puff.
I call my daddy and ask if I have Triple A, 'cause it's not like I pay for it, but maybe I'm on his account?
No such luck.
I call a few locksmiths and get quoted prices I have no desire to pay. It's at this point I realize my phone is rapidly dropping under 10% battery.
Today is just a series of poor life decisions.
I call my local Volkswagen dealer, and get the number for roadside assistance, even though I assume it will be the most expensive of them all. But it turns out to be the cheapest at only $50. And as my phone slowly creeps towards zero, I sit and I wait.
And I reply to a text from Thumper, because he pays attention to me and I love it, and the phone's dying anyway.
Just when it's at 1% and I'm going to be left alone without a way to communicate with the locksmith coming to break into my car, my phone RINGS.
And the voice on the other line says, "Hi, I'm here to save your life."
"You're my hero!" I replied.
Mistake solved, keys retrieved.