In the middle of the workday, I was sneaking in some of my errands. I pulled up to the gas station and proceeded to fill up. While this is going on, I always sit on the passenger side closest to the pump, waiting. I take inventory of the people around me doing the same. A man and his wife are in a Suburban in front of me. I’m a bit contorted, leaning back in the seat as my purse is there, the wallet out, the keys somewhere too. My phone is on the console. I must have leaned onto my key fob, because I heard the click. Everything-electric–cars. The pump stops and I hop out to replace the nozzle in its holder. I shut my passenger door. When I go to shut my gas flap, it won’t close. It doesn’t shut when the car is locked. I have locked myself out of my car. My phone, my wallet, my keys.
I am stunned, to say the least. I don’t believe I’ve ever locked myself out of my car. I’ve been with people who locked themselves out. Maybe when I was a kid? When one used a wire hanger from the closet to needle through the frame and window.
I go to the trunk because when my keys are near, I can brush my foot under the bumper and my trunk will open hands-free. It didn’t work. Only when I’m holding groceries, apparently. I look up and I can see that the couple in the Suburban have registered that I’ve locked myself out, too. They are watching me with their own concern; a wave of sympathy. As if this is no biggy, but in a true swell of panic, I turn right around and walk across the parking lot to the grocery store. I approach the self-checkout attendant and tell her my plight. She lets me use her cell to google the phone number for Mercedes roadside assistance. I write it down on a hastily protracted piece of receipt paper, then look up the Dallas dealership too. In case.
At the customer service desk of the grocery store, the first number I dial didn’t work. I am glad for the foresight in having noted two numbers. I spent longer on the phone waiting for Mercedes to patch me through to roadside service, waiting on roadside service to call the two dealerships in the metroplex and see who had the precise tool, and waiting to get the service tech scheduled; this was the anxiety and uncertainty. On hold on the phone for long stretches of time. Waiting for the driver to arrive was the relaxed state; knowing someone was on their way. Isn’t that interesting, how anxiousness is in the unknowing; how the calmness settles in when there is a plan?
Like being lost in a forest, not knowing which way to turn, fear boils up. But as soon as you find the mossy side of the tree and get your bearings, no matter how long the walk will take to get back to the main road, a sense of calm takes over.
Off the phone, I walked back to my car. With twenty minutes till arrival, I use my triceps to hoist myself up onto the Ready Ice machine beside the wall of the gas station. I sit straight-backed and cross-legged like a meditating Buddha. Like anyone would be, I am initially self-conscious. What will people think I’m doing up here? Then again, how many people will really notice? I am reminded of the Invisible Gorilla Experiment.
In an award-winning and groundbreaking study, psychologists Christopher Chabris and Daniel Simons asked volunteers to watch a 60-second film of a group of students playing basketball and told them to count the number of passes made. About halfway through, a woman dressed head to toe in a gorilla outfit slowly moved to center screen, beat her chest at the camera, and casually strolled away. Unbelievably, almost half of the volunteers missed the gorilla.
Aside from this study, the truth is, we are all so wrapped up in our own thoughts and tasks, we rarely notice our surroundings in detail. People are pulling up to pump their gas; very few register me. I began to count my blessings: how the weather had cooled off pleasantly; how I was in the shade and there was a constant breeze; how I had the privilege of calling for quick help.
Shortly, a white Mercedes SUV pulled up, spotting me at my elevated perch directly near my car. I hopped down, exclaiming, “Am I sure glad to see you!” He took less than four minutes to maneuver a deflated balloon between the door frame and the car, then pump some air into it to widen the gap, then needle a long, coated tool into the gap to release the handle. “The tool won’t scratch your paint,” he said, out of habit to every car owner. A swell of relief.
I was also grateful for the fact that I had a hundred-dollar bill in my wallet with which to negotiate the fee; saving myself 20% had I only had a credit card. Yes, we are a cashless society, but everyone still prefers cash. Always keep some in your wallet.
I know this moment reinforced how I needed to slow down.
All in all, this entire episode only took an extra hour out of my day. When I got back to the office, no one had noticed my absence.
*Image from a random locksmith website