|A clue to the end of the story.|
I sighed the heavy sigh of the self-aware idiot as I entered the mini-mart to borrow the phone to call my parents to come with the spare key. I dialed the number, but after the first ring, I abruptly hung up, a foolhardy plot forming rapidly in my mind. My inspiration: the slightly dishonorable-looking Mexican (because in Idaho, all Latinos are Mexican, right?) attendant behind the counter.
Me: (You look like someone who would know how to break into a car ...) Do you know how to break into a Honda?
Marcos: Hondas? Yeah, they're really easy to break into.
Me: I locked myself out of my Accord out there. Any tips?
Marcos: Yeah, you just take a credit card or something and pop the window out of the rubber lining, and then it just sort of bends out.
Me: (failing to think through how he was describing glass bending) Cool, thanks. (proceeds to bend school ID in half trying to pry window open ... goes back to the attendant.) Do you have a screwdriver or something?
Marcos: Right here (gives screwdriver to teenage girl)
So I took the screwdriver and slowly released the driver's side window from it's rubber casing. Now for the "just sort of bends out" part. I slipped my hand into the narrow opening I had created at the top of the window, reaching desperately for the lock, straining against the angry jaws of glass and rubber, willing the window to yield to my wishes, and then a loud CRACK sounded across the parking lot, followed by the pleasant chiming of a thousand chips of glass falling onto the pavement and into the now open car.
Success, but not the type I was hoping for.
Honorable-looking Construction worker-type: (walks toward me from another pump) Are you all right?
Me: Yeah, I just locked myself out of my car and was trying to break in ... My dad's going to kill me.
Honorable-looking Construction worker-type: That's too bad. I have all the tools that could have unlocked that in my truck.
And then I drove home with no driver's side mirror, freezing my face off and sitting in a pile of glass.
Moral: Break into the passenger's side.
Oh, and call your dad for help if you don't have car-thievery skills.
Disclaimer: I love Mexicans. My most handsome college Spanish teacher was a Mexican. I went to Mexico for my honeymoon. I love tacos. I made my own tortillas once.