A Land Rover, a Policeman, and a Russian Jew

So Friday...

Aiden and I woke up to our normal routine: breakfast, coffee, Yo Gabba Gabba, and blogging. As Jamie left for the day, we made plans to have a date night. Something that was looooong overdue. Yay! I had cleaned the house all day Thursday, so I was ready to get back to the pool for some much missed UV rays. We met Aunt Vickie at the pool, and had a wonderful time soaking up the sun and splashing around. After all the fun was had, we packed up to head home. The sequence of events to follow are very important to the outcome of the rest of the day.

Exhausted from the heat and craving lunch, we strolled through the parking lot towards my car. Aiden always holds the keys. It makes him feel important. It's a toddler thing. Or a man thing. Anyway, we got to the passenger side of the car, and I opened the front door to unload the beach ball and beach bag. HEAVY.  While doing this, Aiden was right in front of me and pushed something on the key that made my car alarm go off. So I grabbed the keys to push the unlock button so the people trying to relax would stop cussing me in their minds. Oh wait, I forgot that my unlock button fell off of the key fob. So I pushed the closest button. The lock button. I then decided since the keys were in my hand and I could reach the ignition, I should start the AC before I load him into his seat. The car wouldn't start all the way (just the radio) "That's weird," I thought. So I gave up and just left the radio on.

I shut the door.

And there it is.

The beginning of a wonderful afternoon.

Items left in car: phone, house key, car seat, wallet, car key in ignition, battery running.

So instead of freaking out, I breathed in and calmed myself down. I thanked God for this little patience lesson and for the fact that Aiden was not in the car, and I calmly walked back to the pool to use Vickie's phone to call a locksmith. Because, of course we don't have a spare key.

I began searching for the nearest locksmith on her phone when we got the idea to call our friend who is a police officer. This way it would be free, and I wouldn't have to tell Jamie. Our buddy, Stevie, pulls through and although he was not available, sent another office out as a favor. We waited. And waited. And waited. Until finally we decided to wait in her car with some AC. The officer finally arrived to rescue us. Well, he tried. Bless his heart. He had to have had tried seven different methods with seven different mechanisms. Is was blistering hot, and there he stood in that solid black polyester uniform, wiping his brow and saying that this is a car he just cannot get into. After about twenty minutes, he left, ego bruised.

Let's discuss why my vehicle was so difficult:
1) The power lock is located in the dash/console, in the middle of the freakin' car.
2) The keys were in the ignition, turned on.
3) There was a plate to protect from the file thing.
4) The doors were constructed so that the inflatable bladder thing couldn't make a big enough opening.
5) You cannot manually unlock the door (pull up the lock on the door).
6) The door handle is waaay down at the bottom of the door.

I had to call Jamie. Crap.

I told him the officer said our only option was a locksmith or busting the window. He suggested busting the window. Jamie did not approve of that idea. Locksmith it is.

We called. We waited, and waited, and waited, and waited some more. By this time, my dad left work to sit with us so that Vickie could go home. Instead, Vickie volunteered to get us some lunch. Thank you Vickie! While she was gone, the guy finally showed up.

When he got out all of his tools, and began analyzing what the problem was, he made comments about the mangled door frame. Then he laughed. That was comforting. Before he began he gave me the price. $110. There goes our date. I told him he was costing a busy mom a nice night out with her husband. THEN he gestured to my FATHER and said, "Is this your husband?"

EEW!

Thanks a lot, dude. Then we talk about his accent and I ask where he's from. He asks us what we think. {uhhh...weird} I want to guess Israel, but I don't know enough. I mean, I knew he was from the Middle East, so I was not about to offend him to the core. But I noticed the way he was dressed and said, "European". Dad guessed, "Costa Rica". He then said, he was from originally from Israel, but lived in Russia, a Russian Jew. His words, not mine.

While working with this tool, then that tool, then yet another, he would sing. Loudly. "Na na eee nana" Or something like that. At some point I sighed and said, "ugh this day." He reminded me that I could be like the women in his country, sweating in the desert, forced to join the army at 18.

Well that put it in perspective. I mean here I was in my pink coverup, bleached hair, and sunglasses, impatient as all get out. Isn't that the best representation of an American? Sorry, America.

Even though he probably thought I was a typical American Jerk, he was still pleasant and actually pretty funny. He kept telling me to be positive and encourage him. So, I did. And it worked!

I was finally in my car. Two hours later.

He got his $100 (thanks to my dad's bargaining prowess). I tried, but he laughed and asked if I wasn't really a Jew as well. HA!

Got home. Gave Aiden a bath. Put him to bed. Took a shower. Ate a Magnum bar. All was well.

Jamie made up for the no date thing. That night, I gave myself a mani-pedi and we ordered a pizza. The next day I got to buy a ridiculously priced pair of jeans. Score.