But on that fateful, chilly morning I needed cash for some reason, and I needed it before work. So I drove to the bank near our house and pulled up to the drive-through ATM. But I didn't pull in close enough to the machine, so like a dork I had to get out of my car and try to decode the workings of the ATM.
I was driving a slick '89 Honda Accord at the time, and that little hot rod didn't have automatic locks (or a passenger side mirror-awesome), so I got in the habit of locking my door as I exited in one fluid motion, my hand pulling the handle while my elbow clicked the little brown knob into the locked position. I did it every time I got out of the car; it was a reflex.
|Not actually my car; perhaps a cousin.|
A dangerous reflex ... after finally getting my cash, I turned to find my car locked, and running.
Meanwhile, a car had pulled up behind me (and the driver had presumably seen me using the ATM like a dweeb); it was driven by a middle-aged non-rapist-looking man. Upon realizing my predicament, he offered me a ride home, which I accepted, because when faced with the decision of either running home and being late to work or getting into a car with a stranger--guess what I'll go for? No stranger danger here. Besides, bad people just don't bank at Zion's Bank.
I did survive.
Stay tuned for Part 2 of Honda Tales, coming tomorrow.