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Keys
We had just left our favorite eating hang-out following church one afternoon when my wife asked if I would like to accompany her to the drug store near-bye. I answered in the negative as I was not interested in walking the aisles, brushing up against strangers, and smelling medicines after finishing such a fine lunch at our family gathering. "Here," she said. "Take the keys. You can sit in the car while I do a bit of shopping." Grasping them in the palm of my hand, I strolled across the roadway dividing the parking area and the various shops and made way toward the car. Since it was a sunny, blue-skied day, I sensed warmth about my body and was most comfortable to say the least. When I reached the vehicle, I selected a key, inserted it in the keyhole and turned. I heard a click, and the lock knob popped up. I then grasped the doorknob, flung open the door, placed my bottom side on the seat (I'm told that's the proper way to get in), swung in my feet, and closed the door. Thankful it was Sunday, I enjoyed just sitting. I was shielded from wind what little there was of it. The interior of the car was warm since the sun had warmed its interior. I was in a state of perfect peace. Looking out the window, I could see the bank
straight ahead. I imagined if that place was still in business.
I have never seen anybody ever frequent that place of business.
Next, I watched the people walk up and down the lot. Certain
questions came to mind concerning each. Don't ask me what I was
thinking. By this time I have forgotten all I was As I sat in the comforts of my confinement, I began to wonder what my wife was doing in that store so long. But then, I didn't care. It was Sunday. I didn't have to work. Everything was going on around me, but I felt that time had no meaning. I suppose if I had a newspaper or even a book, I would have felt equally content, but for some reason, I was just happy sitting, looking out the window, and that was that or so I thought. After a half an hour or so went by, I happened to catch an irate person coming toward my means of transportation. As she was getting closer and closer, I could tell her gander was up and I was mystified to say the least what the trouble was. After all, in my mind, I hadn't done anything. I was calmly sitting in my car taking in the sights, not bothering anybody or anybody annoying me. My uneasiness intensified as she got closer. This was one upset middle-aged lady. For some reason I must have done something to her and I sure didn't know what it was. Finally, she walked up to the car, stuck her key in the keyhole, turned the metal device, opened the door, and shouted, "What are you doing in my car? How did you get in?" I responded somewhat flabbergasted, "What do you mean your car?" She went on to interrogate me. "You can tell this is my car. I have a Jesus license plate on the front," she exclaimed in a loud voice. I quickly verbally counter-attacked, "So do I!" Then she clobbered me with the original statement. "You're sitting in my car." Looking all around, I could see no difference
between the car my wife drives and hers. I then quietly spelled
out the facts that the car sitting beside hers couldn't be ours
because it had a purse in the back seat I've never seen before.
As it so I apologized and made a quick exit. There is a bit of irony to the story. This irate resident of Latrobe was no stranger. I have been acquainted with her on and off over twenty some years. A matter of fact, I even employed her son for some odd jobs many years ago. Here's the kicker: we even attended the same church at one time. But really, what are the chances our key would fit in her car? I guess only so many keys can be made for one lock of the same kind of car. It just so happened two drivers parked these vehicles side by side in the same parking lot on the same sunny day in a small-populated area. Tell me now, what are the chances? Paul J. Volkmann * 1-21-2001 |
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