Car Trouble

If Tim could, he would totally get a new car every year, or maybe even every six months.  His idea of fun is spending hour upon hour trolling car dealerships, reverently patting shiny new bumpers and stroking soft, supple leather seats.

Myself, I would rather run naked through a brier patch filled with poison ivy while being chased by a rabid dog than shop for a new car.

And that is why we make a perfect couple.  After almost eight years, it was time for me to get a new car, and, rather than endure the whining, pouting and snarky comments that bringing me car shopping elicits, Tim pored over car magazines and the internet, and narrowed my choices down to two, I picked one, and we both drove off the lot happy as little clams.

The bubble of happiness lasted exactly two weeks before it burst.

I was actually enjoying my new car, specifically the "keyless entry" feature before it all went south.  No more digging for keys in my purse like I was trying to tunnel to the center of the earth.  No more patting myself  down looking for the keys as though I was in a Macarana dance off.  Now, I simply had to have my keys and with one touch of the door handle, beep--unlock.  Beep, beep--lock.  It was....magic.

So last Monday, I stuffed my keys into my pocket, grabbed the dry cleaning with one arm, the dog with the other, my purse with my elbow, and my reusable shopping bags with my teeth and headed out to run errands.

Bank? Beep. Beep, beep.  Dry cleaners?  Beep.  Beep,beep.  Christmas wreath?  Beep.  Beep, beep.  Dog park? ----Hmm.  No beep.  Perplexed, I shifted the dog to the other arm and tried again.  ----Uh oh.  Not good.

I checked all the doors, but they were securely closed.  I double-checked the trunk where I had put my purse.  Firmly shut.  I brushed my fingers across the handle yet again.  No beep.  I tried another handle.  No beep.  Another hand.  No beep.  My knuckles.  No beep.  An elbow, nose, chin, knee and big toe.  Nothing.  Chloe's paw, her tail, her nose, the tips of her ears.  No beep.

Aggravated, I got back into the car, pushed the button and it started up just fine.  Huh.  That was strange.

I got back out and tried my touching routine all over again, except this time, I included the five basic ballet positions, a downward dog, part of a pussycat doll routine and a few moves I once saw at the Cirque du Soliel.  Still no beep beep.  Not even a beeee.

By now, I was starting to draw a small crowd and Chloe was looking at me the way I looked at my mom when I was 12 and she danced the hustle at a relative's wedding; equal parts horror, fascination and alarm.

I gave one last valiant effort by removing the actual key from the electronic "key", but even that wouldn't lock the car.  Okay, so now even and old-fashioned, unsophisticated key wouldn't work?  How does that happen?

Since the dealership was less than a mile away, I decided to head over there before one of the people watching decided to call either the men in white coats or the police to take me away (Honest, officer, I swear it's my car.).

As I pulled into the lot, the salesman just happened to be there with another customer.

"Hey! How's it going?"  Big, broad smile.

"Not so good.  My key stopped working."

"Let me see," he performed the same voodoo rituals I had done, to no avail.  "Oh dear."  Not such a big smile now.  Meanwhile, his customer suddenly remembered elective brain surgery he had been putting off and fled, er, I mean left.  "Take it around to the service bay."

When I arrived, the mechanic was waiting for me.

"Let's see what we can do," he declared jovially.

Yeah.  You're smiling now.  We all start out that way.  But you won't be smiling for long. 

He took the key from me and...beep.  Beep, beep.

No way.  Uh uh.  That did not just happen.

But then he got cocky and tried to show off by making it happen again.  This time though, silence...

Frowning, he tried again, and again.  No beep.

"Give me a few minutes," he said, walking away and shaking his head.

I decided to take the dog for a little walk while he was gone and returned to find him writing me a voucher for a cab home.

"It's the strangest thing," he scratched his head,  "the computer is saying the car doesn't even recognize the key.  Do you have the spare key with you?"

Uh.  No.  I don't usually need two keys to run errands.  "Sorry," I shook my head.

"We'll send you home in a cab and call you first thing in the morning.  Do you need anything out of your car?  Because it's locked and we can't get in, and if I use the actual key, the alarm will go off and we can't turn it off."

A.  Of course I need the stuff in my car, but apparently I can't get it, so why bother to even ask, other than to torture me and

B.  What do you mean the alarm will go off?!!?  You mean that would have happened to me at the park?  Perhaps that is a little detail you should tell people when they buy the car?  "Oh, don't ever use your key because that will cause the alarm so sound, deafening you and everyone else within a twelve block radius, but the upside is, there is no way to stop it."

As we walked by the car on the way out, it suddenly unlocked.  Beep.

We looked at each other, startled, then tried a handle again.  Beep, beep.

"Are you sure you don't have the other key?" the guy asked me.

Suddenly, it came to me, a hazy memory of dropping a key in my purse the previous week. 

Oops.  My bad.  Chagrined, I reached into my purse and pulled out the key.  Apparently, they key only locks the car from outside, not from in the trunk, and the key I thought was for my car was actually for Tim's.

"Maybe you could put a colored sticker on the keys to tell them apart," the car guy suggested, somehow managing not to laugh outright in my face.

Meanwhile, I was busy trying to figure out how I could blame the whole thing on Tim and wondering where I was going to get my car serviced from now on.