Lisa, my beloved friend, had set up an early doctors appointment out in La Jolla and while she was under doctor scrutiny she kindly assumed that I would watch her young son (he is six, the same age as Kyna). Because I love her, I dragged myself out of bed in time to shower, get the kids packed into the car, and drove her the thirty minutes out to her appointment. Instead of trying to entertain the kids myself (since I was still asleep), I detoured towards the nearest beach. Sun, sand, water; the perfect babysitter. I rolled up everyones pant legs and turned them loose. It was awesome. In the first minute they waded up to their knees. The second minute had them up to their waists, and within three minutes they were swimming, fully clothed.
Not only did I not have a change of clothes for either of them, I also didn't have any towels. C'est la vie. They're kids. They stayed happily occupied for a good hour, diving in and out of the waves, chasing seaweed and looking for fish. Finally they came ashore to warm up by rolling in the sand.
Now I had two very very wet, and very very sandy young ones and my phone rang. It was Lisa. She was finished and ready to be picked up.
Right.
Herding the kids to the car I popped the trunk, pulled out a shopping bag and stripped them down to their skivvies. In order to help get saturated sandy shirts over faces without getting any grit in little eyes I needed both hands. Chucking my cell phone and keys into the open trunk I went to work. As I threw the last dripping pair of pants into the plastic bag I tossed it into the trunk and slammed it shut. Really shut. With my keys, my phone and my wallet safely inside.
As the trunk 'clicked' I saw my life flash before my eyes. It ended with Lisa killing me. I tried to open it. No luck. The lock was horizontal, in super-duper, anti-theft, thwart all burglaries mode. I ran around to the side of the car and opened the front door. I punched the button to pop the trunk, holding my breath, praying to every deity I'd ever heard of (first to answer and save me wins my everlasting piety!). No luck. Not a sound. No satisfying 'Kachunk' of latch releasing and cell phone, keys and purse happily running into my arms. No, the lock on the trunk remained stoically in the horizontal direction. Uber locked. This particular brand of car is notoriously hard to break into. Chris had warned me (and warned me) about leaving the trunk lock in the horizontal position, but I swore up and down that I needed it super secure because I often leave my laptop or camera in there. And I've never, ever, locked my keys in a car before, so that just couldn't possibly ever happen. Good logic eh?
Although, I have actually been
wrong before, so I guess
that can happen.
I stopped swearing and took stock of my situation. I was alone (adult wise), at the beach, without a phone, keys, or money, with a friend waiting for me to show up and two little shivering children in their salty wet underwear looking at me with large doe eyes wondering why I locked their clothes in the trunk of my car. Excellent.
To buy myself time, I got everyone in the cab of the car so I could think. Ok. I couldn't phone Lisa even if I could get my hands on a phone, because, well, her number is in
my phone. Which is in the trunk. In fact, the only phone number I know off my heart (aside from the phone number I had when I was four) is my husband's (and I only committed that one, like, last month). Perhaps if I could call him, he could call Lisa and let her know that I've locked her child's clothes in the back of my car and he's really hungry, but not to worry because I locked my wallet in there too, so I can' t do anything about it anyway.
Not much of a plan, but it was my only plan. I stopped a lady on the street and borrowed her cell phone. Helpfully, my husband didn't pick up. I left a strangled message and returned to the car and kids to think of plan B. They were kids. This was a plus. Kids can wear their underwear on a public beach and it really isn't that big of a deal. Grabbing a hand from each I towed them over to the lifeguard station.
"Um, I don't think this is really appropriate."
"I know sweetie, but your mom will forgive me in her next life. I'm sure of it."
The lifeguards didn't have any bright ideas either, but they did let me use a cell phone to make a 411 call. I found the number of my friend's doctor's office and pleaded with the receptionist to search outside the front door for Lisa and tell her about my predicament and maybe suggest she get a cab.
Then I left a few more agonized phone messages for my husband, because that's what marriage is all about.
Dragging the poor kids back to the car we hunkered down to wait. Twenty minutes later Lisa arrived and our situation improved somewhat. We could now count a cell phone and a wallet among our assets. We tried Triple A.
"What make is the car Ma'am?"
"Uh, one designed by security freaks."
"Hmmm. Those are notoriously difficult to break into. We'll probably have to drill out the lock."
"Uh, I'll give you a call if I can't find an alternative. Thanks, but no thanks."
Then we tried the dealer.
"Whoo. The trunk lock is horizontal?"
"Yes."
"I only know one guy who can do it. You got a pen?"
I copied down the number and verified it three times. Then we called.
"You say the lock is in the horizontal position?"
"Yes."
"Oh well... we'll think of something.. I'll be there in forty five minutes."
Ok! Dubious rescue on the way! Meanwhile the kids were trying to eat their own appendages.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Finally Mr. A-1 Locksmith arrived and went to work. He tried half heartedly to pick the lock, although he had the look of someone doing something just to appease someone else. It didn't unlock. Since there was no way to pick it, he resorted to removing the license plate, drilling a small hole and manipulating the lock from the inside.
Kachunk.
I kiss Mr. A-1 Locksmith and promise that when his divorce is finalized I'll marry him. He only charges me $200. We buy the kids ice-cream as a treat because they didn't turn cannibalistic and eat each other, then drive home four hours later then we planned. Welcome to your vacation Lisa!
