I came home yesterday from Loganville and held up my car key to Aaron.
"What's wrong with this picture?"
"Uh...where's the rest of it?"
That's right, the key had snapped off in the ignition. What I was showing Aaron was the small stump left attached to the black plastic key head. You think this happened in our garage, right? After I pulled in and parked? No, indeed, it happened about halfway between Snellville and Tucker, when I pulled off to use the restroom at Chick-Fil-A. I put the key in, thought, hm, why won't this turn? Pulled it out and reaized, ah, no wonder, that key is pushing up daisies. THAT is an EX-KEY.
So how did I get home, you ask? I'm not sure myself. In the determinedly bemused manner of one who thumps things that have stopped working, I put the pathetic stump back in the ignition and gave it a twist--and damn if the bloody thing didn't start up again.
Mantra for the rest of the way home: DON'T, under any circumstances, stop the car.
To make matters even more exciting, I had been racing a thunderstorm all the way home from Loganville, hampered by the fact that half the traffic lights on 78 had gone out. So the "race: was more of a slow crawl; I'd escaped the worst of it by the time I pit-stopped at Chicken-R-Us, but there were still random spits of rain hitting my windshield. And? The vagaries of whatever was happening in my ignition determined that while the car ran, and the headlights and blinkers worked, the A/C, clock, and radio had gone dead. Along with--wait for it--the windshield wipers.
Oh, and let's not forget I'm still partially blind in the left eye. What is this, a Bujold novel?
Since I'm here to blog the tale, you can guess I made it home in one piece, peering through the rain drops on my windshield. But it was a one-shot miracle. Today I tried coaxing the broken key to turn again, so I could drop the car off at the dealership up the street, but to no avail. So now I'm waiting for AAA. At least I'm in the comfort of my own home, rather than stuck on the side of Rte. 78.
"What's wrong with this picture?"
"Uh...where's the rest of it?"
That's right, the key had snapped off in the ignition. What I was showing Aaron was the small stump left attached to the black plastic key head. You think this happened in our garage, right? After I pulled in and parked? No, indeed, it happened about halfway between Snellville and Tucker, when I pulled off to use the restroom at Chick-Fil-A. I put the key in, thought, hm, why won't this turn? Pulled it out and reaized, ah, no wonder, that key is pushing up daisies. THAT is an EX-KEY.
So how did I get home, you ask? I'm not sure myself. In the determinedly bemused manner of one who thumps things that have stopped working, I put the pathetic stump back in the ignition and gave it a twist--and damn if the bloody thing didn't start up again.
Mantra for the rest of the way home: DON'T, under any circumstances, stop the car.
To make matters even more exciting, I had been racing a thunderstorm all the way home from Loganville, hampered by the fact that half the traffic lights on 78 had gone out. So the "race: was more of a slow crawl; I'd escaped the worst of it by the time I pit-stopped at Chicken-R-Us, but there were still random spits of rain hitting my windshield. And? The vagaries of whatever was happening in my ignition determined that while the car ran, and the headlights and blinkers worked, the A/C, clock, and radio had gone dead. Along with--wait for it--the windshield wipers.
Oh, and let's not forget I'm still partially blind in the left eye. What is this, a Bujold novel?
Since I'm here to blog the tale, you can guess I made it home in one piece, peering through the rain drops on my windshield. But it was a one-shot miracle. Today I tried coaxing the broken key to turn again, so I could drop the car off at the dealership up the street, but to no avail. So now I'm waiting for AAA. At least I'm in the comfort of my own home, rather than stuck on the side of Rte. 78.
Dans la bibliothèque: The Furies of Calderon - Jim Butcher
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