A Funny Thing Happened On The Way Home From the Office

Happy at having finished a rehearsal early, the orchestra poured out of the school where rehearsal had been held and filed to their cars by ones and twos.
It had been raining off and on throughout the day and vehicles that had been sitting unused for most of the day showed the usual symptoms: wet brake pads and swollen door seals. As I reached my car, I, as I always did, stuck my key into the lock of the hatchback - where I commonly put my instrument while in the car.

Much to my surprise, after turning the lock, I looked down at my hand to see that only 60% of the key remained in my hand. The rest of it had hilariously decided to jump ship inside the lock, not only denying me the ability to get inside my car, but also the ability to drive home.

Thankfully, at that moment, two other violists happen to walk by and see my look of shocked bewilderment as I held up the half-key for their inspection. Surely, they had to be laughing on the inside. To be polite, they both seemed quite genuinely concerned, but if roles were reversed, I know it would've taken some amount of self control to point and laugh.

Thanks to the wonders of the modern age, the number for my insurance's roadside assistance was pulled off of a internet-capable cell phone and I called their handy-dandy automated "hang on" phone system while they tried to track down a locksmith that could come out and do the work.

Already ten minutes have passed, and the great majority of the other musicians have all left. I am invited to sit in my friend's car while we wait and find out how many days it will take for the locksmith to arrive. Staying true to my fortune, I realize that the only (apparently) useful theft deterrent my car has is a computer chip contained in the key itself, which once engaged in the ignition, allows the motor to start. Without this chip, my car is nothing more than a stylish paper weight.
Finding a locksmith that could replace the key with a compatible key chip inside took longer, and, as it turns out, meant that they would have to drive from Zimbabwe. But, "they should be there in about 40 minutes." (ha ha)

The school where we had rehearsed had since locked its doors, the janitors undoubtedly going home to their warm beds and the thought of joyously returning to their work the next morning. My friend (and her warm car) began to realize that she had to start heading home.

Looking around for any sign of civilization, I spotted a beacon of modern convenience: a Seven Eleven convenience store across the street from the school. Its fluorescent bulbs burned bright into the night, welcoming me with all of the assorted surreal sugar-coated shrink-wrapped 2 for $3 offerings I could ever imagine.

I walk in, viola on back, prepared to wait out the remainder of my "40 minutes" by the magazine rack near the front door. This way, when the phone call comes at precisely 10:29, (40 minutes) I will be able to dash out the door, across the street and to my car to meet the locksmith. Ironically enough, I find myself looking through the Auto Trader, wondering how much extra remote access would cost on a new car...

10:45 - Having exhausted the Auto Trader, RV Trader and Motorcycle Trader, I've resorted to staring out the window, making an unusual eye contact with the customers as they pull up in front of the store, a mere four feet from where I stand, staring straight back into their headlights. One starts to wonder if the man without a coat carrying a large black case on his back who deliberately stares down customers would be making any friends tonight...

11:15 - An automated courtesy call from my insurance company wants to find out if my help has arrived yet. Press 1 to talk to a representative.

1111111111111111111111111111111

It turns out that the lock smith is just crossing the bridge into Virginia which will still give me a good 30 minutes to ponder my life choices while I decide whether to look at XL, Lowrider or Elle.

12:00 - A call on the cell phone from the locksmith himself! He tells me that he's just made it to the intersection where the school is located, but he realized he doesn't have the computer he needs to program the new key, so he has to return to the locksmith mothership to get it. (Again, in Zimbabwe.) "Hang tight!"

FYI - The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition is on newsstands everywhere. And, Avril Lavigne makes the cover of Maxim, and Car & Driver features a cover article about the new Pontiac G8. Some cheaply produced periodical named Shooting laments the passing of the .223 ammunition and I watch the same group of 3 - 8 guys come into the store three times and buy half of the beer that they have in stock. For a Wednesday night, it's quite a party...

1:00 - My body is shutting down. Tired, hungry and crabby, I'm sitting on a plastic bag full of over-priced logs for the rich man's fireplace, trying to stay interested in a one-page article about zany office character's bracket choices for March Madness. Also trying to stave off any undue suspicion from the two Ethiopians working the late shift.

1:30 - another courtesy call from the insurance company - this time I'm put on hold (why not?) only to find out that
indeed, the locksmith has in fact driven to another state in search of an Excalibur-computer. Fantastic.

1:50 - Finally, a phone call from the locksmith, driving around the school looking for my car. I meet him at my car and show him the nub of a key that I had left.
Interestingly, as surprising as the act of snapping the key off had been, retrieving the tip of the key from the lock on the trunk took an entire 35 seconds.

As our project progressed, keys cut and programmed, the locksmith and I began to talk and I found out that he had served four years in the military and had gone and done a tour in Iraq. Sensing our camaraderie, this locksmith decided to tell my some war stories of his time over in "The Sandbox."

I don't even feel I should write the story down, for the protection of all involved. Surely it is a story he should not be re-telling for his own safety, but also because of the potential legal proceedings he could become involved in as questions would arise about Law of Armed Conflict and the Geneva Convention.

It made me wonder: as frustrated as I have been by the experience of seeing the nominally stupid population that makes up the enlisted core of the Air Force, (and assumptions regarding the other branches of service) it puts me in a bind: I rely and trust upon these very people to complete their missions which will ensure the safety and well-being of the United States, and yet I often find the attitudes and actions of these soldiers, airmen and marines as individuals to be ridiculous, childish, dangerous and, for lack of a better word, stupid.
Why is my job in a situation where we're treated like brain dead infants and told how/where/when to do everything? It's because of this locksmith who met me at a parking lot at 1:50 in the morning.
This is saddening, frustrating and perplexing, and I'm not sure what to make of it.

The other thing I wondered about was whether or not I wanted to be standing in the middle of a parking lot with this guy at 2 AM in the morning...

Thankfully, I was home by 2:30, a mere $360 dollars less and not a bit wiser for the experience.

A note to Ford: Please install a form of theft deterrent that will allow me to have a replacement key fashioned that will cost less than 10% off the vehicle's worth. Thanks.

And for all of you kids who are thinking about opening your trunk: use the release switch by the driver's seat - just to be safe.

T.