Afternoon came, and I wasn't being very productive, having been up late at a Jason Mraz concert (he puts on l-o-n-g performances), and I decided to stick to the plan to get the job done. My husband Jim, however, was not feeling up to the trip.
"We don't need that much. I'll go by myself," I told him.
And I left, glad that I pushed myself to get it done, happy that I could park in the little off-the-beaten-path parking area where Jim refuses to park. Happy while I shopped in a quiet store, picking up a roaster chicken first, helping an elderly woman in a riding shopping cart find the Nova Salmon (no one at the store even knew they had it, but I found it), discovering the Sanders Salted Dark Caramel chocolates I love, securing everything we needed in no time at all, and even having time to peruse the book table and pick up a highly regarded novel, The God of Small Things, for $9.99.
I went to my Hyundai Tucson, in the quiet parking area, and opened the back end. I then took the chicken and set it on the floor of the front seat. I plopped my purse on the seat (as I usually do after shopping trips), and closed the door.
When I started to unload the items, I realized I needed the canvas bags from the back seat to store the items for easier carrying up the stairs when I got home. I went to open the back door, but it was locked. I tried the front doors. They were all locked.
Now, I have a smart car that isn't supposed to lock when the key (which was in my purse) is in the car. I am not 100% sure what went wrong. I suppose since the back end was open, it didn't register.
I felt my blood pressure shoot up as I panicked for a moment, and then immediately calmed myself down. Stop. Breathe. You will figure this out.
My first thought was to put one of the back seats down so I could crawl in and get the door unlocked. But, no luck. Couldn't figure out how to get it to recline. I thought of my chocolate caramels melting in the shopping cart in the sun as I breathed slowly and thought of what my next move should be. I crawled in the back end and reached over the back seat, a tight squeeze -- someone decided it was nice to put in three head rests, so there wasn't a lot of room. Well, I suppose for safety reasons there is no way to unlock doors from the back seats. That was a losing idea.
I crawled back out, looked at my refrigerated food, realized there wasn't a soul around, and decided the only thing to do was crawl all the way up to the front seat. Somehow I had to get over that back seat so I could reach the door locks in the front. This is where I am grateful I am no longer the weight I was last year at this time when I was on a steroid. With that extra 25 pounds, I surely would have gotten stuck between the ceiling and the car seat.
It kept popping back open.
I looked and none of the grocery items were blocking it. I tried three times, beginning to picture myself trying to drive home with the back end open. Then I realized in my efforts to get over the seat, I had pushed the rubber mat just enough to be in the way of the back end door. Problem solved.
I got in the car, took a long sip of water, called Jim, told him the story, and laughed and laughed.
Arriving home, we laughed some more. My belly feels like it might be a little bruised from being dragged over the middle headrest, a device that could have been easily removed if I had the presence of mind to realize that.
I poured some wine and came right in to share this story. For me it was another lesson in being able calm myself in a moment of panic, and to laugh at myself afterward. I have no idea if anyone saw this 62-year-old woman dive-bombing over a backseat like a kid in a 1960's station wagon, but no matter. I have a story to tell.
And a delicious chicken for dinner.
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