I Climbed Through My Trunk to Get into My Car This Week

Car Keys are illusive.  One minute they're here and the next they're locked in your car under the floor mat.  I'll never understand it.  And I never needed to until I moved from NYC, the mecca of public transportation, to LA, the mecca of isolated, sometimes dangerously depressing transportation.  The streets are a sea of lone drivers in a city where "car-pooling" is a dirty word.

Prior to becoming a card-carrying member of AAA, I paid someone to break into my car on at least three different occasions.  And I have no doubt that I'm selectively forgetting more than a few other unsavory situations.  The first incident that I recall occurred at a meter off Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood.  Luckily and very improbably, a tow truck drove by at precisely the same moment I kicked my tire out of sheer frustration.  For that perceptive driver, opportunity knocked.  The second time was outside of my own home.  Did I mention I don't have a spare key?  Well, I don't.  On the third occasion, I was running late to a conference.  I stopped to grab a quick coffee and voila, the car key slid off of my key chain and into the drivers seat which I had occupied only seconds before.  Alas, I was left outside of the car holding a silver key ring which carried only my house keys.  How? 

Now, I have AAA.  They're like my own personal superhero.  When I'm in trouble, I call them.

Still no spare key though.

The most recent example of AAA heroism happened just this week.  I was heading back to Santa Monica from Culver City when I noticed that my gas tank was showing one lonely glowing bar of fuel.  I decided to fill up at the Shell Station located at the busy intersection of Overland and Venice Boulevards, a few hundred yards from SONY Studios and Culver City's business district.  Light on my feet from the lingering adrenaline rush brought on by the productive meeting just a few minutes earlier, I popped out of my car and swung the door closed.  With a sprightly hop, I inserted my credit card, lifted the gas pump and pulled the lever.  Filling initiated, I began mindlessly chatting with the older gentlemen at the pump next to mine, who looked and talked a lot like Martin Scorsese.

Upon noticing that his vehicle was in fact a tow truck, a sinking feeling swallowed me whole.  What were the chances?  And better yet, where were my keys?  I dug into my pockets only to discover...

Lint.

Ugh!

Peering through the window, I caught site of my keys in the center console hiding stealthily next to my mobile phone and the wallet containing my AAA membership card.  I forced a bewildered yet flirty grin and approached the gas station attendant who was locked securely within a booth of bullet-proof and sound-proof glass.  Expecting to bat my lashes, explain the situation, and receive a hearty chuckle and HELP in return from the man in the glass box, I began confessing my plight.

To my utter surprise, he pointed out loudly (but muffled due to the glass) with clear irritation in his tone that I was blocking other cars from using gas pump #7 and just how busy his station was at lunch time on a weekday.  He gestured to the line of cars now building behind my own and pushed a cordless phone through the metal slot which connected him to his customers, waving his arm in an effort to will me to hurry up.  Without adjusting his voice as it clearly presented his state of mind, he started reciting extra-slowly for my benefit AAA's phone number, shaking his head all the while.

After being assured that AAA would be there in under 30 minutes, I noticed that Martin Scorsese- tow truck operator- and a gaggle of other older gentlemen without much else to do besides mill around a busy gas station at lunch time on a weekday were now gazing into the windows of my Honda assessing my dilemma and discussing various rescue options, none of which involved waiting for AAA.  As I got closer, Scorsese pulled from his truck a gadget that I had seen many times before, the infamous balloon pump and accompanying 3 foot wire featuring a jerry-rigged hook used to fish for keys.  Before I had time to protest, he placed the balloon between the car door and my poor Honda's already scratched body (evidence of previous fishing expeditions) and pumped.  A crevice half an inch wide was revealed.  As Scorsese started poking his wire around in my car, one of his cohorts began whispering in my ear a continuous monologue of reasons why this was a bad idea, "He's gonna ruin your car.  I'd wait for AAA.  Doesn't look like he knows what he's doing..."  After ten minutes of breath-holding and car-scratching, it was determined that due to the key's location in the center console fishing had to be abandoned. 

It was time to go in through the trunk, a strategy employed by many in the grand theft auto field.  In fact, I can now proudly say that I am fully capable of stealing a car should the situation call for it.  Add that to the list of things that didn't kill be but made me stronger!  After another ten minutes of Martin Scorsese's wire prodding around the front seat of my poor car for a motley audience of five who would gasp at his near misses, he finally manuevered the hook around the release and popped the trunk.  A round of applause ensued.  The attendant in the sound proof booth shouted something inaudible and waved his hands summoning me to get a move on.  Where was AAA?

With the trunk now open, it was my time to shine.  I pulled the handle that released the back seat, shimmied into the trunk (an extremely nerve-racking experience for someone who is claustrophobic) and crawled through the length of my Honda all Tom Cruise MI4 style.  Heaving myself into the drivers seat, I unlocked the doors and reemerged into the cool Culver City air displaying my keys proudly above my head for the five sixty-five and older men as well as that nasty gas station attendant to see.

None of whom were watching, other than Martin Scorsese- tow truck operator.  I thanked him profusely, got in my car, and drove home passing the AAA truck on the way.