Pop: On getting locked in the truck

We've all read stories in the newspaper about children who lock themselves in or get locked into a vehicle. Sometimes the stories are funny ... sometimes tragic. Have you ever heard of locking a parent in a vehicle?

This morning pop and I were off in our new, not new like 2010-new or even 2009-new, but new to us, Chevy, Avalanche to have our one and only key made into another set of keys. As I drove down our little road to the main street I noticed that a yellow light on the dash was on indicating that I was low on fuel; very, very low on fuel. Rather then risk driving the distance to my favorite, less expensive gas station I had to choose the price gouger's on the corner (we call them the terrorists) to get a few gallons to tide us over. On our rear view mirror we have a handy, dandy temperature gage that indicates what the temp is outside. I noted that it was 27 degrees.

We pulled into the station. I hopped out leaving pop snug in the co-pilot seat eager to get those few gallons so I could get out of the cold and on our way to buy the extra truck keys. Now there are several bells and whistles on this truck. One that I especially don't care for is the automatic lock which locks all the doors shortly after the engine has been turned off. It means that the driver is always having to unlock the truck to re-enter and obviously it could lead to some real problems if for example, the keys were left in the vehicle, or ... somebody unable to open the door got left in the vehicle. As I closed the drivers side door and moved out into the cold toward the pump I heard that chilling sound ... click, click indicating that the truck doors were locked! I peaked in and next to my warm comfy pop were the truck keys, the one and only set sitting on the console.

Pop sat and stared at me as I began to tap on the window trying to tell him that I was locked out. He does not hear well, see well or comprehend well. In an agitated voice I began to make pounding gestures with my finger trying to show him he needed to push a button on my door panel. The longer I gestured the more my volume went up and the gesturing and tapping became more hysterical. At one point I tried to get him to put the key in the ignition to start the truck hoping the doors would open. What was I thinking? When I realized how dumb that was I began to make frantic, sweeping gestures with my arm directing and yelling for him to crawl over the console into the drivers seat where he could get to the buttons on my door. Why I did that I'll never know! First of all how was an 87 year old man going to climb over this rather large console? Secondly, he had his own buttons on his door that would have accomplished the needed task. He stared at me blankly trying to figure out what this crazy woman was wanting him to do. Not only was he locked in this truck, but he had a nit whit outside in rapid fire fashion tapping on the window, pointing, gesturing and hollering incomprehensible instructions at him. When a moment of understanding finally came he strained to reach the drivers door and with fumbling fingers pushed at the buttons on the panel. "Yes, yes that is the one I yelled." But being a double sided button -- one side for lock and the other side for unlock -- he could not get the combination correct. As the emotions in both of us rose he grabbed at his door handle, said a couple of choice words, and finally in a gesture of frustration hit the window. Somehow by some streak of luck he happened to hit the unlock button on his door and I heard that wonderful sound ... click, click!