I locked my keys in my car for the first time last week. I got my Vibe gently used from Enterprise the car renters back in oh-five. When they handed over the first set of keys I snatched em from them real quick — never even bothered to ask for a second set. Never bothered to make a second set neither. Dat’s a mistake.
Last week when I realized I locked my keys in my car I called AAA. Within 25 minutes a teeny tiny triple-A-battery of a man had popped lock n dropped it (the car key) into my hand. Dude shoved a little wedge in the door crack, stuck a rubber pouch in the resulting gap, pumped it up, snaked a hella long rubber coated metal stick in the new, bigger gap, and unlocked my car. I was impressed and would’ve tipped him but 1) I ain’t had no money; 2) I was still bitter about the time one of his AAA colleagues guilted me into tipping him.
A year and a half ago
I went out in Portland. I spent the night dranking dranks, spit drooling, walking down cobblestone streets while rapping Snoop Dogg songs with a truck driving stranger, and eating chicken sandwiches and waffle fries. Needless to say, I did not spend the night driving myself home. Instead, I changed into a T-shirt I had in my car and spent the night in the guestroom at my friends’, Katie and Tyler’s, crib.
Even though I’ve been friends with Katie since college orientation and I once saw Tyler naked, I’m uncomfortable about being awake in their house while they’re still asleep.
Every time I sleep over their house I wake up at 5:30, poop a couple of times, mooch some gummy bear vitamins, clean their sink, write a stupid note on a piece of cardboard, and steal one of their books. On this particular morning I stole Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. I read it until about 8:00 am, at which point I decided I’d hung out alone in their house long enough. I left.
On the ride home I got a flat tire. I thought “Oooh, today ain’t yo day,” pulled over, and dialed up AAA. They told me they’d be there within half an hour, but to keep my phone on in case they needed directions. My phone had less than 10% battery life and, having never learned my lesson about keeping a car charger, I had to save its life by not using it. Instead, I whipped out Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close and got to reading.
I learned incredibly quickly that this book was about extremely sad things. Namely 9/11, World War II bombings, and lost loved ones. It had me tearing up in no time.
Coincidentally I was also tearing it up — “it” being my car seats. My farts were straight storming. Come to think of it, I don’t know if my eyes were watering because the book was sad or my car was just so stanked up. Either way, when the big, black, muscley AAA man arrived, he was welcomed by a very emotional girl in a very smelly car.
He looked surprised that I was reading a book. I was like, “Bitch you ain’t no nerd? I coulda sworn you was.” He told me he wasn’t, and that he mostly only liked fixing flat tires and shopping. Then he got to work.
When he opened the trunk to get out the donut tire, I could tell by the face he made that he was thinking “WHAT THAT SMELL LIKE?”
Ten minutes later, after he’d finished replacing the flat, I could tell he was still thinking “WHAT THAT SMELL LIKE?”
Self conscious from all his questioning, I looked down. Suddenly everything made sense. He wanted to know what that smell like because the black T-shirt I was wearing — the one I’d drunkenly pulled out of my car and slept in the night before — had “WHAT THAT SMELL LIKE?” written in huge white letters.
I gave the dude $10 – five for the farts, five for the decency of not answering what that smelled like.