Julie Kemp Pick
A few years ago, my doctor suggested going to the ER after I complained about chest pains, so I drove myself over to the hospital, and checked myself in. Although my test results were fine, and my pains subsided, they still wanted to keep me overnight for observation. By this time, my husband was on his way home from work, so I called to fill him in before I was assigned to a room.
After he didn't show up for quite a while, I tried reaching him again from my room on the high risk cardiac floor. He told me that he went to the hospital, but couldn't find me, so he left.
Last week we were on our way to the Botanic Garden when we realized we forgot to bring our parking pass. My husband made a U-turn on the expressway and headed home to get it. He pulled into our driveway, and quickly ran in to fetch the pass. I asked him to roll down the window, so I could dangle my head out while panting in the heat. After 10 minutes passed and he still didn't come out, I decided to go in and investigate.
Consequently, my car door wouldn't open. I tried the automatic lock on the driver's side, and it still wouldn't work. I contemplated climbing out of the window, but didn't want to get stuck halfway, as either half would be subject to hideous gravitational pulls. Then I realized that I was locked in because his car has a keyless ignition, and the key fob was inside his pocket. Of course he wouldn't come outside to admit that he had trouble finding the pass, so I called him on his cell phone. He unlocked the car, and I retrieved the parking pass from the cabinet where I said it was. Then he muttered under his breath that it was all my fault.
Over the weekend, we went to one of our favorite cozy Greek restaurants for dinner. We had been walking around the city after we dropped our son off at a friend's house, and were quite starving. After we ordered, I went to freshen up in the Ladies' Room. When I was ready to head back to the table, I noticed the door was stuck. I tried pulling with all of my might and it wouldn't budge. Then I used some paper towels to get a better grip on the handle, but it didn't help. I had no choice, but to take a running leap into the door, and do the combination shoulder/kick dive. But I thought it would be easier to call my husband. He answered and let out a big sigh as he walked the three feet over to the restroom.
Later, I told our waitress what had happened, and she said that this usually occurs during the first signs of warm weather, and that the customers just pound on the door until someone lets them out. I said cozy not classy establishment.
Is there a lesson to be learned from being neglected, trapped and pretty much forgotten? The first thing I'm going to do is buy a very large tool belt equipped with a compartment for a sledge hammer or an ax. Secondly, I will enroll in a course to become a certified locksmith, and it probably wouldn't hurt to invest in a dog whistle.