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A number of thoughts swirl through one's mind when one discovers one has locked oneself out of one's car.
Chiefly: "Idiot!" "What a ding dong!" and "Why do I keep referring to myself as 'one'?"
I called roadside service. An operator in Massachusetts, Maine or possibly Montana answered. "I need to figure out who services your area. Do you know the ZIP code of where the vehicle is?"
That was easy. I'd parked at the town post office.
She keyed in the numbers. "OK, I've got a map… Is that a McDonald's I see next door?"
"Yes, there's one in the same plaza."
"Well, you might want to walk over there and get a coffee. This could take a while."
Oh, joy.
I sat at McDonald's until Roadside Sally chirped my cellphone: "The local police department provides lockout service, but the officer on duty is in a meeting."
"Any idea how long it might take?"
"You might want to order a cheeseburger. And some fries."
I sighed. How could I do something so brainless?
The only person I ever locked out any of my things is me. When someone wanted my new bicycle, the thief took the bike and the lock. I had the combination and still had trouble getting the lock to work.
I wondered what would happen if people like me were in charge of wars:
"Quick, men, into the tank."
"Um, we can't. I locked the keys inside."
From across the battlefield, the enemy sings out, "Hey, we did, too."
"So what do we do now?"
"We could shoot it out."
"Locked my guns in the tank."
"Me, too."
"Want to throw rocks at each other? I'll start."
"Say, that's a pretty good arm."
"Nice catch."
"Get your soldiers together and I'll get my troops, and let's play baseball."
"Great idea! Still want our land?"
"Nah. Hey, why don't you come over to our country next Saturday for a game?"
"Sure. We'll bring the chips. The next weekend, you come over to ours. We'll play a double-header."
I shook myself out of my daydream and wandered back to the insistently locked Jeep. Through the windows, I saw my lawn chair. There was the mystery novel. I could be sitting outside in my chair, sipping on a Coke -- my free drink coupon also was in the Jeep -- figuring out whodunit if I hadn't doodit.
Instead, I walked to the bank on the other side of the parking lot and leaned against the wall. I figured maybe if I looked shifty, the lone officer would be dispatched sooner.
When he arrived, the officer studied the Jeep, sifted through his handy Burglars 'R' Us kit for the correct wedge and bar, and had the door open in 10 seconds.
I'd been locked out for an hour. Now my freedom was over. I could get back inside the vehicle and continue my flurry of errands, followed by heading to the office.
A number of thoughts swirl through one's mind when one discovers one has locked oneself out of one's excuse to skip responsibilities.
Chiefly: "Idiot!" "What a ding dong!" and "There's gotta be a better way to refer to myself than 'one.'"
— Lock in on Cole at burtseyeview@tribtoday.com or on the Burton W. Cole page on Facebook.