So our minivan (which was 'new to us' five months ago but hasn't been 'new' in over a decade) has power locks that have never worked quite right for us. The passenger side sliding door never locks or unlocks with the rest of them, it just sits there. Until the last two days, when it has randomly decided to fall in line a couple of times.
I was telling Matt about this yesterday when we started talking about how cool it would be if you had a car that gradually got less run-down and beat-up rather than more: painted over its own rust spots, popped out its own dents, and eventually turned itself into a 2011 Honda Odyssey. The ultimate self-healing car.
Fast forward to Zumba this morning. Caleb and I walked out of the church and he wouldn't get in the car. I coaxed him inside with the keys, which he put in the ignition, then he spent a few minutes avoiding my snatches at him (my ever-growing belly makes it hard to drag him out of the front seat of the car), pushing buttons, turning on the A/C, etc. etc. Then I caught him, strapped him in his seat and closed his door.
I went around to my door. It was locked. One of the many buttons Caleb had pushed was the power locks. No big deal, I thought. That sliding door never locks.
Except for this time. The third time in its life. So there was Caleb, strapped in tight, looking at me through the window and expecting to leave any moment. And there was my phone sitting next to him in the car. And there were my keys in the ignition. And my spare key was at the seminary, only a couple of miles away, but in Matt's pocket as he stood in front of a class of teenagers. And there I was dripping sweat.
I flagged down a friend who offered to take me to the seminary, but retracted the offer when she realized the van might get too hot in that amount of time. So instead she found the police dispatch number on her iPhone, then we waited around for about ten minutes watching Caleb get red-faced and sweaty in the car as it heated up (thankfully it was only about 11 AM and today wasn't a scorcher).
So the police officer showed up, looked at me disdainfully, slipped his hanger-looking thing into the car and hit the power lock button. At which point all the doors unlocked.
Except for the passenger side sliding door. Because, you see, that door never locks or unlocks with the rest of them.
When I got home, I cursed the self-healing car. And then myself for forgetting that another spare key was hanging from the key holder in my kitchen - five blocks from the church!
C'est la vie.
