In April 2003, a set of keys that unlocked the gates and offices of the Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in Livermore, California disappeared. That’s right, gone. But officials quickly changed the locks to some of the doors and said that national security had not been compromised.
My 1983 Chevy S-10 Tahoe
There didn’t seem to be too much of a ruckus raised at the time.
I thought about that scenario some and realized that sometimes it is more frustrating knowing where your keys are, but not being able to get to them.
Three cases on point:
First: My friends had a two-year old boy. He is grown now. But once, when he was little, they returned from shopping and accidentally locked their keys in the car. But, no problem, they thought, the two year old is still in the car, although asleep. They tapped on the window to awaken their little sweetie and have him simply unlock the door and free him and the keys.
“Sweetie, unlock the door for mommy.”
“Sweetie, unlock the door for daddy.”
Two hours later, and after many false unlock attempts, mommy and daddy were going nuts. It had been a wonderful game for him; he acted like he was going to unlock the door, but grinned, and retreated. They called the fire department. It didn’t work. The kid refused. Eventually, he gave in, finding the game no longer fun after he got hungry enough.
Secondly: Soon after my lovely bride (and I) married, we journeyed to Corinth, Mississippi to interview for a preaching job. I stopped at a gas station just a mile or so from the church building. It was winter and cold, even for Mississippi. As I got out of the truck the door shut – confidently.
That feeling somewhere down in the far reaches of my stomach told me that the keys that would have normally accompanied my hand on the way from the ignition to my pocket lay, not in my then empty hands, but still in the ignition, proudly keeping the engine running. Frantically, I started doing what any sane person about to interview at a church for a preaching job, – cursing at the top of my lungs.
No, I didn’t. But, my keys were still in the ignition. I was supposed to be at the church building in 30 minutes or so and my only mode of motorized transportation was slowly burning the gas out of the tank.
People came and went from the store. A little old lady, perhaps 80, asked if I had locked my keys in the truck. I punched her. No I didn’t, it was actually a gently nudge. I really don’t know how she fell. Thankfully, it was only a sprain. Church people made their weekly trek to the store before church. I explained to one my predicament. Through the help of a delicate instrument especially made for such situations I used my skill to free the keys from the ignition. I still have the bent clothes hanger, framed on my wall.
Finally: I was driving to Fort Smith, Arkansas for court (somewhere along the way I stumbled through law school). I astutely noticed a discarded box of electronics lying on side of road. It had fallen from a satellite service truck or from the truck of thieves. Either way, I decided that it was fair game.
I stopped with plenty of room between westbound traffic and me. I didn’t want to go to all the trouble of turning off the ignition and putting the keys in my pocket.
Who would?
That was way too much work to ask of a busy attorney – on a busy interstate – with big trucks and all.
I was only going to be a minute gathering the “lost” property from the byway.
As I exited my truck, my right elbow caught the door as gale force winds from a passing semi truck pushed the door towards Missouri.
My elbow brushed, ever slightly, the lock.
The door shut.
Confidently – like before.
Seems that my truck has a healthy self-image.
Standing outside said truck, engine running, the keys locked inside, I was not happy.
I tried not to look as stupid as my actions clearly indicated I was. So I walked towards the discarded electronics and threw the box into the truck bed, feigning interest in the satellite instruments that I would never use and only recently gave away to a Salvation Army Thrift store.
I walked up and down the interstate looking down for something that might help me open the door. There’s a lot of stuff alongside an interstate highway.
Praying that God would be merciful and look beyond my stupidity and greed, I asked for a way into the truck.
Several times.
No one seemed the least interested in why I was walking back and forth on the side of the interstate while a perfectly good truck sat – idling – nearby.
I had tried many times to pull the door open. There was space to work with as the door had not shut completely. I had even taken a large rock and began trying to smash in the passenger window. Auto glass is tough.
Thankfully that didn’t work.
As I contemplated my lot, I looked down by the driver’s door and saw the metal remains of a windshield wiper.
Because it was flat, it was perfect for sliding into the space and pulling up the lock, which (of course) had no tip at the top that would have allowed me to grip it. The flat metal worked perfectly and looking back, it was probably the only thing that would have worked considering the smooth lock on those trucks.
One click – and the door opened. Rarely had I been so happy to sit behind the steering wheel and drive away.
So, I hear that OnStar works well in these kinds of unfortunate situations. But my advice is to make sure you have a hammer on board – rocks don’t do well on auto glass.
