Locks

In Southern Oregon, I never locked my doors. I tell you this by way of preliminary defense, so you won't jump to the immediate (if eventual) conclusion that I am an idiot.

Also, to give credit where credit is due, my sweet man asked me didn't I think it would be a good idea to gas-up before the last fumes escaped. Honey. He said Honey. So I said, No, I'll decide. I've got the whole world in my hands.

Enough of a set up? Can you guess what happens?

I left the comfort of my vortex to meet Shawna at the Nooner for her birthday. 7 years. I thought I'd leave a little early, get her a card, you know the drill. So, I whisk out the door at 11:30, and as soon as the door clicked behind me with all of the finality of Fort Knox, it occurred to me that I didn't have my keys. There is no way back in. I've determined that already. I'm not going cat burglar on it. NO second story work for me. To my credit, I looked great this time: black turtleneck, good levis, no coffee stains. And I thought, okay. Well, I have money and a vehicle. No problem. I always carry an extra truck key. Good girl scout. Maybe I'll just drive around after the meeting, run some errands, then drive out to Hillsboro to get hubby after work. No problem.

But the vehicle was out of gas. Remember?

I think: okay. No problem. (this thinking precedes many problems for me...) I can make it to the gas station, and still make it on time. I won't be able to get her the card, but oh well. So, I drive to the gas station and pull up to the pump. Mobil -- 205.9 a gallon, but I don't have time to drive to the belmont arco where its 189 or so. So, I drag out a ten dollar bill as the woman comes to my window. "Key." she says. Its pretty simple. But the thing is, I'm just not used to the whole fear factor thing about living in a city. Although with the relative value of gas.... My husband bought me a locking gas cap when I started coming up here regularly. Before he was my husband. Well, you can guess that I didn't have an extra gas key. Shit. I ask her if she can pick the lock. She works at a gas station, she might have some skills. Me? I've been clean too long. I don't remember how to do anything wrong anymore. She tells me she can break the lock. I consider it, but drive away instead. I'm going to creep home to see if Nicole will show up for lunch. Sometimes she does. Sometimes she has a housekey.

I approach our house and see her walking up the street. Thank you Jesus. I walk to meet her. "please tell me you have a key." she doesn't, of course. But she knows where one is, and its only 40 blocks from here. I drive her to her mother's house, breathing fumes all the while, and back again. Whew. We get into the house, I get my keys, take her keys, feed her banana cake (god, i've been baking cakes like betty crocker) and grab hubby's keys to HIS truck. (Mine is bone dry, remember.) And we hop in the white truck and I drop her back at school, a block away, like a good step-mommy. I'm half an hour late, but I make it. I make it. Later in the day I take a gas can and start out for the gas station. What I don't remember is rush hour. If you live in a city, it is something to keep in mind. a real phenomenon. very inconvenient when you're trying like mad to sneak to the nearest gas station.

It was stop and go traffic all the way up Division, but I made it.... and I didn't hear much about I told you so from honey about the gas. I know it would have been a better story if I'd run out, but not for me. After work, I rode to the esplanade to meet K after work, and I said, (a teensy bit defensive) "Okay okay, you were right." And he said, "No, you could say I was right, but in your heart, you'd know I wasn't. You didn't run out of gas." But the point was not whether or not I ran out of gas, its that I had every opportunity to fill the tank and did not. And the degree of stress over the lockout was compounded monumentally by my own stubborness.

But all actions are born somewhere. Its funny. The closer I get to poverty, the more I act like I used to. Coasting on fumes, putting in two dollars at a time, this is a life I know by heart. It is a luxury to fill up the tank. I've been fortunate for a long time, but I remember looking for quarters between the couch pillows like it was yesterday.

I've been beating the cosmic streets in search of gainful employment. Without the old-time face to face, its tough to really experience the full effect of rejection. But I'm getting closer.