An excerpt from today’s horoscope:

“A judicious mixture of wisdom, wit, and common sense. The result: Being able to offset any complications relating to a long range goal-and get your show on the road”

Keep this in mind as my story progresses.

Old Babette (my station wagon) is getting on, and I decided to deck her out in a brand new tire to try and make her feel pretty again. This had more to do with my safety and less about my car’s feelings, because one of her normally droopy tires had been looking especially decrepit as of late. So off to the Wal-mart automotive center I went to try and get her fixed up before my shift at Family Video started.

(I know that I publicly denounced them in my last post, but I didn’t feel like trying to wade through the seventy or so shady Decatur automotive centers before finding one that wouldn’t screw my car up while simultaneously ripping me off. So to the super store I went).

Things went fine at Wal-mart, after I finally convinced them that I did indeed want just one tire changed instead of all four (“But-but, that doesn’t make any sense at all…”). How about a few less exclamations of my seeming ignorance about cars and a little more do your fucking job and change my tire.

As I was waiting in line to pay for the tire, I noticed that the woman behind the counter was making a duplicate key for the gentleman in front of me. I thought back to a time this previous summer when Babette first came into my possession and how I locked my one and only key in my car. I remembered the 2 hour process of attempting to unlock the front door, and the agonizing cuts that I got on my hand as a result. It was right around now that I thought to myself, “wow, I should probably get a duplicate key so that I never have to do that again…”

(Foreshadowing, hint-hint).

After a seemingly ridiculous amount of time for just a single duplicate key, I stepped up for my turn. Before I could remember to ask about a spare key, there was some problem with the register and my credit card, and to make a short story even shorter, I forgot to ask. It wasn’t until I was pulling out of the parking lot to head to work that it occurred to me that I should’ve got one. “Ah well,” I thought, “I’ll pick one up later.”

I get to work and things go fine as they usually do. More than fine really. I actually enjoyed my shift, and by the time we finished, my co-worker (my poor, poor co-worker) and I were walking out to the parking lot mere minutes after midnight.

It was then I realized that I had in fact locked my keys in the car.

I would like to a take a moment now and point out that this story is completely true. None of this is fabricated, my life just sucks his bad sometimes.

After a few moments of panic, a few more moments of smoking several cigarettes, and a couple assurances by my co-worker that she would stay with me until we figured this out, I got out the phone book and found a reasonable lock smith to come and get me out of this jam. The device that I usually use to break into my car was, ironically enough, locked in my car with the keys. I’m a genius- I know.

The lock smith of choice was Al’s 24 Towing and Locksmith Service. It had the largest advertisement in the “locksmith” section of the yellow pages, so I had to assume that it was fairly legitimate. I checked quickly to see that it did in fact say “Debit/Credit Cards accepted,” and dialed the number. After a bit of embarrassing conversation Al himself informed me that he would be there in fifteen minutes, and that it would cost $45 to unlock my car.

Oh, I know- that sounded like highway robbery to me too. But it gets better.

Al shows up in fifteen minutes as he promised, and promptly took out a large barbaric looking flat pipe, and got my car open in less (LESS) than a minute. That’s right, Al was charging $45 for less than a minute’s worth of work. As I reached for my wallet to retrieve my credit card, Al took a moment to complain to me that I had woken him up in order to come out.

I submit that perhaps a 24 hour business is probably not the best idea for someone who becomes so cranky when actually called to do work past regular business hours. Al was a pretty big bitch if you couldn’t tell already. Don’t worry, it gets worse.

Upon giving him my credit card, Al wasted no time in informing me that they do not accept credit card payments after a certain time. The time, he explained to me, was at his discretion. It varies from day to day. I asked him why he didn’t tell me this when I called, but Al explained to me, as though I lacked the brain capacity to wipe my own ass, that I should’ve asked.

How the hell am I supposed to know to ask a question like that? It states pretty clearly in large fucking block letters on your advertisement that you accept debit/credit cards. Seeing as you’re a 24 hour business Al, I figured that you accepted them all of those 24 hours. Maybe you should put an asterisk next to that portion of the ad that states “only accepted sometimes. Whenever I feel like it. Because I’m retarded.”

Another moment of panic (I don’t have that much cash), another cigarette (Al is getting pissed now) and the agreement that he would follow me to an ATM, I was finally finished with this debacle.

The moral of the story is this: If I had read my horoscope this morning, and realized that if I had the wit, wisdom and common sense to get that damned spare key (or gosh, here’s a thought: maybe remembered not to lock my key in my car), I would not have complicated my long range goal of not spending an egregious amount of money that I don’t have and not sending myself spiraling down into the black abyss of debt that I could not possibly climb out of.

Read your horoscope, and perhaps you could avoid a long night of losing $45 to heinous locksmiths.

The end.
it’s going to be a long summer in Decatur.