Monday, September 08, 2008
Fort F@#king Knox!
After buying over $135 in groceries and placing them in the car, I slammed the trunk shut only to find out my keys were locked in side. "F@#k!"
Desperately padding my pockets for them to miraculously reappear in my Levis, I began to panic. "Do you have them?" I said to Chris.
He too padded his pockets. "No!"
"F@#k!" We said in unison.
I called Volvo Road Assistance. They told me someone would be out in 45 minutes but they would only be able to get into the car, not the trunk. I said that was okay. Even though I didn't have an interior trunk release, unlocking all the the doors allows you to open the trunk using the exterior trunk release.
In the meantime, Chris called for back up and had his Mom coming to bring him to the house so that he could get his set. Why he didn't have his keys on him is a whole other story. While the house key was also in the trunk, we figured he would just punch the code into the lock box that I installed out on the back porch, get an extra house key to get inside to get the spare Volvo key.
Two hours later.
Apparently the combination on lock box with the spare house key didn't work. After many a frantic phone call between the two of us, reconfirming the code over and over, he couldn't get it to work. If we smashed the window ADT would be sending the police.
Volvo Road Assistance, a fat Russian with bad teeth stuffed inside in a black Toyota Yaris, after twenty minutes of scraping the paint all along the side of both my driver and passenger windows to break in, couldn't get the door open. In his broken English told me my car had too much weather stripping. "Volvo's like Fort f@#king Knox!" He pried the metal of my door back further as if taking his frustrations out on my car.
After a fifteen minutes of struggling with the car doors and scraping off more and more paint, he decided that he needed to buy some duct tape. (When all else fails try duct tape.)
He left me in the heat with my raw steak probably now at a perfect medium inside the trunk.
In the meantime, I called Chris and had him go over to the house next door where I knew the big burly Brazilian construction worker would be with his tool. I mean drill. I mean...well you get the point.
My Russian road side service guy came back wrapping duct tape around his rod. He wedged the door open even further to accommodate the new thickness of his piece.
While I watched a shimming boil on the back fat of my Russian man, Chris had the chiseled Brazilian hack off the lock box from the side of the house and with his powerful drill bust open the contents. He handed Chris the key to the house.
Finally my Russian man opened the car door. The car's alarm screamed, "Enh...Enh...Enh...Enh!"
He unlocked all the doors. I hit on the electronic unlock-everything button that I was placing my hopes on and went to the trunk.
"F@#k!" Both the Russian guy and I shouted, as I tried the exterior release over and over.
At this point, a cute baseball player still dressed in uniform stopped by to check in on me. "Everything all right?"
"You're fine. I mean...I'm fine. I just locked my keys in the trunk and now can't get it open."
Apparently he was more interested in my car than helping me out. Besides other than offering me some decent eye candy, what could he do. We went on for five minutes on the quality of Volvos and how he's thinking of buy the exact model and color that I have. Meanwhile, my Russian guy gave up and began writing up his work order. He did all he could do.
It didn't matter. Chris, Bandit and his Mom were on there way with the spare.
Finally with eye candy, Russian back-fat boils, duct tape and Fort F@#king Knox behind us, we got the groceries home. Surprisingly they were still somewhat cool. I'm glad I talked myself out of getting that pint of Ben & Jerry's.