The Keys To Success (January 2006)

I think I’m going to get a tattoo.

Okay, okay, scrape your eyebrows off of the ceiling. I don’t want to get a tattoo. But, for the good of humanity, I feel that this may be necessary. You know those warnings that they put on cigarettes? You know, the ones in size .0001 font, letting you know in vague and evasive language that the product that you’re using will almost definitely probably kill you? I’ve come to the conclusion that I need to have one of those babies written directly on my forehead. Something like…

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Prolonged Exposure To This Individual May Lead You Into Unanticipated Chaos.

Or if that one doesn’t fly, how about:

SURGEON GENERAL'S WARNING: Avoiding This Individual Greatly Reduces Serious Risks to Your Sanity.

I say this because I have reached the point in my life where even I am baffled at the amount of commotion that seems to pursue me. Others have been baffled for quite some time now, but I think I’m catching up. In fact, I’ve been doing some research about ironic situations, and I think I’ve found an answer. Check out this definition, provided for us today by wikipedia.com:

irony of fate, n.
1. The notion that the gods are amusing themselves by toying with the minds of mortals, with deliberate ironic intent.

Hello? Is that not me in a nutshell, or what? I think Webster’s could save a great deal of money and ink by changing their definition as follows:

irony of fate, n.
1. Amy.

Moment of Pondering #1: If you digress without really making a point in the first place… is it really a digression? *contemplative silence*

Okay, enough already! You people want an adventure, let’s get to it!
*AGA theme music begins*
*voice-over*

you've watched her through the years...

you gasped when she got decked in the face with a cross before a gospel choir concert... you howled with laughter when Lady With Cute Child loudly asked her if she was pregnant on the Q train... you marveled at her naiveté when she used her thimble-sized subway map to be her sole guide in trekking across the Brooklyn ghetto.

you understand the Etch-A-Sketch and Double Black Diamond Neighborhoods. you've met the Squawking Sisters, Needle-Flick Nurse, and the Threatening Looking Individuals.

and now...
the moment you've all been waiting for...

AMY'S!
GREAT!
ADVENTUUUUUURES!!!

*crowd goes wild*

let's give a warm welcome to the organization that makes it all possible, where "Our Embarrassment Is Your Entertainment," Foolish Things Ministries!

Thank you, thank you, you're too kind. Here at FTM it is our number one goal to see you amused by our stupidity. We've worked long and hard to... well... actually... we haven't really worked at all. These things just kinda happen to us. Ha ha! But, regardless, we are honored to regale you with our heroic tales of inanity. And now, FTM proudly presents to you:

Episode XVIII: The Keys To Success

Date: January 16th, 2006
Time: 10:30 am
Location: Lake Pleasant, NY (just 30 miles NNE of Nowhere)

It had been a fun-filled weekend with friends at my family’s cabin, and we were just about ready to venture out for our last day of skiing before returning home. We were all piled into two cars, attempting to get warm, as the temperatures were hovering in the single digits (although it was better that ski day #1, when it was -5 with a wind chill of -30!!)… when we started having some trouble. One of our cars was dangerously overheated and we did not feel that it was safe to drive. We were a bit disappointed, as this meant that our last ski day would probably not happen, but very glad that I had a AAA membership, which I got only DAYS after I managed to lock my keys in my car (see above note on irony of fate). I called AAA and got a very pleasant-sounding woman who professionally took down all of my information. That is, of course, until she asked for my location. “I’m sorry… you’re WHERE?,” was the response given. Apparently our location was so remote that she had to transfer me to a completely different AAA department with a different name. Something like AAA Northway. A new worker picked up the phone who did not sound HALF as professional as Pleasant Lady. In fact, she sounded a bit like Fran Drescher crossed with Chewbacca.

*pausing to let you try to even IMAGINE what that might sound like*

Despite my initial impression, she eventually was able to get us the help we needed, sending a tow truck that could bring the car to the ONE AAA location in about 50 miles, where it could be assessed. Eventually, after approximately 7 hours and a extraordinary amount of chaos (which I will skip in order to keep this e-mail shorter than War and Peace), we were back on the road. It was 6:00 pm.

Turmoil continued on the journey back home when the BQE was completely blocked off due to an accident, so we were forced to re-route deeper into Queens (motto: We Don’t Care If Our Road Signs Make No Sense) and wind our way back to Brooklyn. Basically, cars had been the major source of frustration for me this day, and I was just looking forward to getting OUT of one, getting INTO my bed, and going to sleep. After all, I had to work the next morning. We finally dropped off the last of our party and headed into Bay Ridge, where my car (Min) was waiting for me. It was 11:00 pm.

I decided to check my cell phone messages en route, and I had a message from one of my roommates, Erika. I punched in my password and began to listen.

*beep* Hey Amy, this is Erika. Um, I’m calling because there are some messages for you on our answering machine… something about your car being towed… blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah.

Oh, she said more. But after the words “car” and “towed,” I immediately slipped into Full Panic Mode and heard nothing but blahs. I turned to Jeremy, who was driving, and said “… there’s a message that says my car’s been towed.” The car was silent for about 5 seconds, and then we both simultaneously began to state out loud all of the reasons why that did NOT really mean that my car, Min, had been towed. We did this for about a minute, and then slipped into silence again. I was attempting to maintain at least a scrap of composure while also concentrating on keeping my heart inside of my chest. Fortunately, the traffic lights were with us on 4th Avenue, because had it taken about 5 minutes longer I probably would have gotten out and started running.

We turned the corner and I could barely look, until I heard Jeremy say, “there she is!” 16,000 cubic tons of air was released from my lungs and I began to chuckle almost involuntarily. Jeremy was chuckling too, and said “you see? God wouldn’t let that happen to you.”

Ah, Jeremy. That HAS to go in the Book of Phrases You Should Never Say Unless You Want Something Bad To Happen, along with “I’ll be right back,” and “What could possibly go wrong?”

But it looked like he was right—my car was in plain sight, we had made it to Bay Ridge in one piece, all members of our party had been delivered to their homes. All was well! “Why don’t you get your car warmed up, and I’ll start loading the stuff,” said Jeremy. All of a sudden, the craziness of the day caught up with me and I felt exhausted. In fact, I was so tired that my fingers couldn’t even locate the keys in the key pocket of my purse. I chuckled for a second before setting the bag down, thinking, “wouldn’t THAT just beat all, if I couldn’t find my keys?” Oh, I found them, all right. In the passenger’s seat of my car. My locked car. It was midnight.

By this time I was Done, capital-D-style. We went over to a car service place just to ask for advice, and they rigged up a coat hanger for us and sent us back out into the night. That (obviously) didn’t work, and I ended up taking Jeremy’s car home with a plan to go back the next day (hopefully with the spare key) and resolve the situation. I, of course, did NOT want to take this car into my possession, especially with my track record that day, but there really wasn’t a choice. I got in the car and drove home.

If you’re thinking, “okay, that has GOT to be the end of the story,” you aren’t speaking proper English. You also haven’t read very many AGA Episodes.

I woke up the next morning, after getting about 3 and a half hours of sleep, and RAN to the window to make sure that the car was still there, which it was. I gathered all of my stuff that I needed for the day and started down to the car. Halfway down the stairs, I realized that I had forgotten a couple of things upstairs, so I turned to go back… when I had an Idea. “Hey,” I thought. “It’s cold out. What if I went down to the car, started the engine, made sure the Club thingy is securely fastened, got out of the car, locked the car, went back upstairs, finished getting what I needed to get, came back down, unlocked the car, removed the Club thingy, and drove off to work in a nice, warmed car?? It’s FOOLPROOF!”

I had to separate the car key from the keyring, since the automatic door lock thingy needed to go with me and the car key needed to stay in the car. But alas, the car would not let me lock from the outside when the car was running. So I aborted my plan, turned off the car, put the key back on the keyring, went upstairs, finished my business, came back down, got into the car, unlocked the Club thingy, and went to put the key into the ignition. Except there was no key.

I have no idea how the key leaped off the keyring like it did. But I do know why. Irony of fate.

I searched EVERYWHERE for that key. By this time I was starting to seriously panic, 1) because I was about to be late to work and 2) because if I did not find this key, I was going to have to call Jeremy and explain that I had lost the key to his car. After momentarily considering just dashing out into heavy traffic, I resumed my search. By 9:00 I realized that I had to start putting money in the meter, so I went to get some quarters… but the meter was broken. “Woo hoo!,” I thought. “Now I don’t have to pay anything!” This, of course, was before I realized that there were NO other cars parked on this stretch. And ALL of the other meters were working, which meant that I could get ticketed for "choosing" a broken meter. But I can’t move the car, because the key is missing!

What To Do If Your Car Is Parked At A Broken Meter With No Other Cars Around You And Your Keys Are Missing So That You Cannot Move It:

a) Try putting quarters in the meter anyway, so that at least you’ve done the honest thing, even thought they will ticket you for an amount greater than the GNP of a small European nation.

b) Just leave it there and go upstairs and continue your search, while running every 15 seconds back to the window to make sure no one is anywhere NEAR the vehicle.

c) Stand there and cry.

The correct answer, of course, is c). It’s always c). But, once a), b), and c) become tiring, opt for d), which is to create a nifty hand-made sign using a Sharpie and some computer paper, saying “Hi! :) This meter is broken and I cannot move the car because the keys are missing.” Then include your cell phone number so that they can call you so that you can witness them ticketing you for an amount greater than the GNP of a small European nation.

After 2 hours of searching… I found the key! Not underneath the car. Not hidden in a small nook in the stairwell, covered by a spiderweb. Not, thank God, at the bottom of a large grate that I carefully inspected using the age-old technique of laying flat on your stomach and moving an inch at a time while ever germ every created has a field day in your hair.

I found it in the bottom of my cosmetics bag.

SURGEON GENERALS WARNING: Trying To Figure Out How This Possibly Could Have Happened Could Have Detrimental Effects On The Space Time Continuum.

Unfortunately, I don’t have any space for that tattoo. The forehead is already taken.