Coming Soon...

Stay tuned to FTM for some archived articles that never made it onto the blog, the debut of S.O.S. and the return of A-Musings!

My Kingdom For a Speakon Barrel

I am weird.

I know that most of you are chortling wildly at the immensity of that understatement, but I've recently realized that I take my own strangeness for granted. I think this is because more and more of my friends are simply getting used to the fact that I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal – and because of that, I'm not constantly being reminded of it. Nana, my roommate since 2003, has been almost completely numbed to my insanity… to the point where, if she were to come home and find me standing in the kitchen mooing at the top of my lungs wearing tap shoes, she would simply nod at me on her way to the refrigerator.

This is, of course, an extreme case of desensitization that will probably only be cured by years of psychotherapy – but I'm definitely sensing this kind of trend amongst some of my other close friends as well. It's great, most of the time – as I don't have to answer such questions as, "What's wrong with you?" and "Do I need to call someone?" quite as frequently.

However, there's a down side to this phenomenon of desensitization – and that's the fact that I often fail to remember that there are those individuals out there who are COMPLETE STRANGERS to the realm of AmyLand. I was reminded of this lesson two weeks ago before the last Transitions meeting… which leads us to…

AMY'S GREAT ADVENTURES, EPISODE XXIII: My Kingdom For A Speakon Barrel

I had A Plan.

It was simple, really. I was going to leave work promptly at 5:00 pm, jump on the A train just two quick stops to Jay St/Borough Hall, run upstairs to the 5^th floor of 163 Livingston Street to put my stuff down, take a solid 30 minutes to chill and relax, grab some grub and be ready for worship team rehearsal at 6:00 pm. Simple.

AmyLand Stranger: … okay, sounds good. So what happened next?

AmyLand Veteran: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL.

The first part of The Plan went quite smoothly – I left work right at 5:00 and squeezed myself onto a downtown A train (motto: If You See Something, Then Obviously We Can Fit More People In This Subway Car). I was upstairs at 163 Livingston at around 5:20 and found some of the Transitions leaders already setting up. I happily greeted some of them, and then went over to chat with Dave about the worship songs. However, Dave was in Tech Mode.

Tech Mode (n.):

A frame of mind triggered by an inordinate amount of technology-related work to be done in a very small window of time. A person in this state will be unable to respond to requests, questions or statements (such as "Hi") that are outside of the technological arena, because his/her entire world is made up only of cords, cables and speakers.

editor's note: Anyone who does not understand technology should STEER CLEAR of an individual experiencing Tech Mode, both for his/her own safety and the safety of those around him/her.

Fortunately, having worked in theatrical productions for a number of years, I immediately recognized this syndrome and attempted to steer clear... as my technological IQ is just slightly below that of a doorknob. Because of this, I have a slight case of TechPhobia – so moving away from the situation was definitely the best course of action.

I remembered The Plan, and went to put down my belongings and go grab some food. On my way out, I heard a sound of exasperation coming from the closet, so I peeked my head around. Dave was standing there, cell phone in hand, looking very disgruntled. Before I knew what was happening, the words were out of my mouth:

"Are you okay? Do you need help?"

In case you ever find yourself in this situation, this is the WORST POSSIBLE QUESTION that a technological ninny such as myself can ask someone in Tech Mode. People who have made this mistake in the past have found themselves knee-deep in wires holding a set of completely incomprehensible instructions longer than the US Tax Code. I realized this immediately after asking the question, and briefly considered just turning tail and running before I heard the answer, but I stuck around long enough to hear the response:

"I need… *sigh*… I need a cable! I need to go to Sam Ash to get a cable. No, not Sam Ash. That one by Atlantic… uh, uh, uh… Guitar Center, yeah. Hey – do you drive? You drive. Can you go to Guitar Center for me to get a cable? *hands keys*"

It was at this point that I realized two things. First, I realized that Tech Mode is a very, very serious disease that should immediately and unquestionably be added to the DSM-IV. Second, I realized that poor Dave had absolutely NO IDEA about AmyLand. For those of you who are AGA veterans, you know that the very concept of handing your keys to me IN GENERAL is an invitation for Disaster to come to dinner – let alone asking me to go to a technology store to purchase a technological item that is very important to the success of a major event taking place less than an hour from that moment. However, I knew that this was important and that there wasn't anyone else available at that moment, so I agreed.

I quickly determined that the car idea was not the best course of action – since you'd have a better chance of winning the lottery than finding parking near Atlantic and Flatbush – so I decided to jump on the bus instead. I started getting my stuff together and then asked, "okay, so I just need to buy a cable, right?"

"Okay, so here's what you're gonna do. I'm gonna need an eighth inch to two XRL males, and actually, yeah, can you grab a speakon barrel as well?"

My eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. I had no idea what language had just been spoken to me, but it was most certainly not English. I immediately grabbed my cell phone and had that sentence dictated to me (including the spellings of all words, including "and" and "to"). I made Dave PROMISE me that the store employees would know what I was talking about if I blurted out the sentence that was stored in my phone, and that I would not have to answer any clarifying questions. He assured me that everything would be fine (AGA veterans are burying their heads in their hands). So off I went. As I left the church, I walked through the sanctuary where there was a men's health symposium taking place. I felt a bit weird, as the entire building was packed with men and I was just waltzing through, but I was on a Mission so I took it in stride.

I arrived at the Guitar Center after a short bus ride, and immediately proceeded to walk in the OUT door, causing a near-traffic jam to the amusement of the security guard standing by the entrance. Shaking it off, I re-checked my cell phone for the fourteenth time to ensure that my meticulous notes hadn't somehow vanished on the bus (again, AGA veterans are nodding their heads). I proceeded to the counter and was greeted by a friendly customer service representative named Josh. Josh calmly asked if he could help me, and I immediately blurted out something to the effect of "I-DON'T-KNOW-WHAT-I-NEED-BUT-I-WROTE-IT-DOWN-HERE-LOOK-PLEASE-HELP-ME." Josh calmly took the phone and stared at it with a puzzled look on his face. "Um," he said, "… is this for an amplifier?"

All hope was lost. I hadn't the slightest idea what these things were or how to answer his question. I was just about to pick up the phone and call Dave in absolute panic, when another Guitar Center employee walked by (Jeff) and noticed the scene. He immediately recognized the sentence typed out on the phone and told me to follow him. It was then that I realized that I had just asked someone for an audio cable in the Guitar section *sigh*. We moved over to the audio section and Jeff expertly deciphered the hieroglyphics of "eighth-inch cable split to two XLR males." Within minutes, I had the desired product in-hand and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Then Jeff noticed the speakon barrel, and gave me a near heart-attack by saying that he wasn't sure that they had that in stock – but was finally able to locate it.

At this point, my spirits began to rise. It was actually possible that I was going to be able to achieve the mission for which I was sent forth with only a minimal amount of chaos. I paid for the products and cheerfully waved to the security guard as I unintentionally exited through the IN door (yes, I'm serious). I walked off to the sound of intense chuckling and jumped on the bus to go back to the church.

Remember the Squawking Sisters from "Subway Pregnancy" (AGA Episode XVI)? For those who aren't aware, the Squawking Sisters were a pair of elderly Chinese women who were having a conversation in Mandarin on the subway, speaking at the speed of sound and using the highest-pitched tones that human ears could possibly hear. Well, I think that they might possibly have met their match. Squawking Sisters, meet Cussout Chicks. As soon as I boarded the bus, I noticed them. They were two women, sitting near the middle of the bus, having an extremely animated discussion about something or someone. But, once again, they were practically screeching and every fifth word was a curse. I think cursing is absolutely vile and it completely rubs me the wrong way whenever I hear it, so I'm trying with EVERYTHING IN ME not to get Highly Upset. The Chicks continued their diatribe and I continued breathing deeply until we reached the church. I practically dove out of the bus, feeling like I needed to immediately scrub my soul with a Brillo pad and just simply irritated that I had to endure that mess for the ten-minute bus ride.

However, I was ELATED to have successfully fulfilled my mission, and confidently strode back into the church… ONCE again walking through the men's health symposium *sigh*. On my way up in the elevator, I started to get a bit nervous. "What if it's the wrong item?," I thought. I reassured myself that the Guitar Center employees were extremely knowledgeable and that Dave's directions were very clear. I told myself that I was just flustered from the Cussout Chicks and from twice crashing the men's health symposium, and that my task was complete.

Or so I thought.

I got back to the 5^th floor and went right up to Dave, who greeted me with gratitude. We opened up the bag and then I saw The Look.

The Look said quite a number of things, all in about .67 nanoseconds, but the basic gist was that this was NOT the correct item and our time crunch was now extremely serious. I was absolutely crestfallen. Dave was very kind, of course, and calmly explained to me that I had purchased a speakon barrel that had a sasjdasjdasd on one end, instead of a jdaasdh2asd. No, he actually used some kind of technological terms, but I hadn't the slightest idea what he was saying. I listened, nodded, even repeated back what was said to me, but all I could think of was "YOU HAVE TO DO ALL OF THAT ALL OVER AGAIN." I could tell that Dave was torn between his need for this item and his not wanting to send me back out again… but Tech Mode won out, and off I went once again.

I'll be honest… at this point, I was Not Happy. I was Not Happy at the Guitar Center employees, I was Not Happy at the Cussout Chicks, and I was Not Happy at the fact that I had chosen to wear boots on that day, of all days, and my feet were beginning to scream at me. And that's when the giant bulletin board attacked me.

See, I had made the egregious mistake of walking out the normal double-door exit from the 5^th floor. I had CLEARLY SEEN that the bulletin board was propped up against those double doors from the outside when I came back into the room. In fact, it didn't even cross my mind that something might be amiss when I tried to exit through the double doors and was met with some resistant. I remembered actually saying, "What is WRONG with these DOORS?" and pushing with all my might. I finally managed to swing the doors open with a shove, and the first thing I saw was the bulletin board start to tumble while Nicole's voice in the background was saying "Don't go that waaaaaaaaaay….."

Desperately trying to save the bulletin board, I did what any other single-brain-celled individual would have done in that situation – I stood there completely motionless and screamed. And as I did so, the bulletin board fell in such a way that the bottom of the bulletin board tilted upward, scraping the entire front of my right calf. Of course, my scream alerted everyone in the outer room to come running and watch me standing there like a stump as the bulletin board ravaged my leg. People were trying to express sympathy (and others were trying to restore the bulletin board), but I was Done. Now I was hobbling from the scrape AND from the pain in my feet from the boots. All I wanted to do was get to the store and get back as quickly as possible. Of course, to do that, where did I need to go? Back through the men's health symposium.

Incidentally, it was this bus ride back to Guitar Center when I decided to vent through Facebook, and threw up a status message that said, "Amy is EXTREMELY displeased with a speakon barrel and a 1/8 inch cable split to 2 XLR males." To which Ricardo helpfully replied, "Try 1/8 inch to (2) RCA, into 1/4 inch adapters, into (2) DI's then XLR to XLR while lifting the ground." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I think I did both.

When I got back to the store, the security guard absolutely roared with laughter. He didn't even ask for explanation – I think he just intuitively knew about AmyLand and was just enjoying the experience. I found Jeff and explained the problem using the terms that Dave had explained to me and he understood immediately. "Ohhhhh," he said. "You want THAT kind of speakon barrel. Yeah, we definitely don't have that."

That would have been an AMAZING time for the rapture.

But, no, that was not the moment preordained for Christ's return – so I had to deal with what was in front of me. I begged Jeff to tell me where else I could get this thing, and he pointed me across the street to a store called ProLine. I hobbled across the street, praying what were probably completely incomprehensible prayers without the translating power of the Holy Spirit ("Lord, would you PLEASE let them have the thing with the two things instead of the one thing," etc.). I walked in and almost laughed – this store was the complete opposite of the Guitar Center. The Guitar Center was well-lit and spacious with clearly defined sections. This place looked like someone's garage. It was just this giant jumble of stuff and I was almost certain that SOME kind of illegal activity was probably taking place in a back room somewhere. However, I had no other options but to ask the guy at the counter.

Wouldn't you know it that this guy goes into one of the back rooms and comes out with the exact right item? No bag. No price tag. No label. For all I know, he could have dug it out of his couch cushions. I didn't care. I paid for the item and jumped back on the bus. This time, *I* was the crazy person that other people are probably blogging about right now. I took that infernal item in my hand and I monologued to it for most of the way back to the church ("GOD HELP YOU if you are not the item that I need… you had BETTER be the right one…") I arrived at the church and, for the fourth time, I crossed through the men's health symposium – and this time, people started turning to look. I briefly considered screaming out something like, "IT WAS THE WRONG SPEAKON BARREL, OKAY?!?!?!?!?," but really didn't want for Big Willie to have to escort me off of the premises.

By the time I got back upstairs, the entire worship team was on the stage and we were pretty much ready to start. I went up to Dave, and with my entire sanity and livelihood on the line, I held out the barrel for approval. The smile and nod said it all.

So I supposed all's well that ends well, but there are some DEFINITE lessons learned here. Flee to a neighboring continent when anything remotely connected to Tech Mode comes near. Do something beside remain motionless when a giant bulletin board is falling on you. Never wear boots to a Transitions meeting. And in regards to the AmyLand Desensitization problem… haven't quite figured that one out yet. Nana has always said that I should come with a manual. Perhaps a training course should be offered, or a mentoring program for those who are just starting to come in contact? Something to ponder. But until next time, we remain…

Foolish Things Ministries: Confounding Wisdom and Common Sense In a Neighborhood Near You!

FTM Is Back!

Helloooooo everyone!

It is with great pleasure and anticipation that I am re-launching Foolish Things Ministries!

For those of you who are joining us for the first time, let me just take a moment to explain to you what in the world is going on here. Foolish Things Ministry is - in essence - a blog. But it's so much more!

FTM (Foolish Things Ministries) was birthed on a blustery September day twenty-eight years ago, when I came into this world. Since that moment, I have been blessed with a unique ability to get myself into unbelievable situations that would never happen to anyone else. My job, as president, founder and C.E.O. of FTM, is to write them down and share them with the world so that the world can laugh. That's why our motto is "Our Embarrassment Is Your Entertainment."

FTM began with a series called Amy's Great Adventures (AGA) back in the year 2001. You can find all of the old AGA episodes in the archives, so that you can catch up on any of the episodes you've missed. We then developed a segment called A-Musings in 2006, which is basically just a smorgasbord of really random thoughts. We were going to called Things That We Think When We're Supposed To Be Doing Something Else, but we thought it was too long. So A-Musings it is.

We are also VERY excited to have recently merged with S.O.S., Inc (Stomp on Satan). SOS postings have been a part of FTM for a couple of years now (see Episode Guide) but will be much more prominently featured in late 2008 and 2009. These postings are the more "serious" side of FTM - but certainly adhere to our mission statement of proving the legitimacy of 1 Corinthians 1:27.

We at FTM LOVE to hear from our readers, so if you read a post, please feel free to leave a comment (just click on "comments") or drop us an email at foolishthingsministries@gmail.com.

SO HOW DOES THIS WORK?

• Immediately below this post is an Episode Guide. You can take a look through this guide to find an episode that you find intriguing - or you could just start at the bottom and work your way to the top in chronological order. There is a new AGA episode posted right after the Episode Guide.
  
• Each episode has a label to let you know what kind of episode it is. These labels are located at the end of each blog and also on the right hand side of the FTM home page. If you click on the label, it will take you to only those episodes that fit the label. Here's the key:

AGA - Amy's Great Adventure (a crazy story of something that would ONLY happen to me)
AMU - A-Musings (random thoughts that don't necessarily involve a story)
INFO - Information on Foolish Things Ministries, the blog, etc.
SOS - Stomp on Satan (thoughts on Christianity, faith, etc.)

• Once you've read an episode, please post a comment! Feel free to email us at foolishthingsministries@gmail.com if you have questions, comments or suggestions.

Happy reading!

FTM Episode Guide

If you're new to FTM and not sure which episodes to check out, here's a handy episode guide (from most recent to oldest) so that you can figure out where to begin!

Crabbs and Coat Hangers

After a two-and-a-half year hiatus, FTM is back! This AGA features a near-fiasco involving Jason Crabb, reggaeton, a near arrest and a good old-fashioned coat hanger. Welcome back!

Of Mice (and Roaches) and Men

This AGA episode features Stan the Roach and Norm & Babycakes the Mice (three unforgettable characters) and draws some conclusions about the origins of these type of creatures. Bonus feature: an interpretation of Adam and Eve’s first encounter with a roach.

A-Musings II: Gotta Go to God’s

A-Musings continues with some thoughts on spiritual gifts as well as FTM’s first short skit that puts a twist on a familiar passage of Scripture…

A-Musings I: Reject Demons and Ram Rights

The introduction to the A-Musings segment begins here with some discourse about “mailer-daemon,” as well as a plea for awareness and respect to an oft-forgotten Biblical character…

Putting My Best Foot Forward

Another favorite, this FTM features New Jersey – which should be enough said right there. This ironic tale features Min, directional miscues and a pair of shoes unlike any other…

Thanks, BRIAN.

The brief story of how FTM became famous through the unlikely agent of Pastor Brian Pettrey, as well as some tips and tricks about navigating through FTM.

Intro, yo.

A short AGA designed to introduce the reader to the types of things that AGAs entail – insanity and a shortage of common sense!...

If You’re New…

If you’re an FTM first-timer, check out this brief blog for a history of FTM before delving into the archives!

The Keys to Success

To this day, I still don’t know how on earth this happened. Car towage, key lockage and a host of other misfortunes await!...

The Anti-Ghetto

Possibly my personal favorite AGA, this story involves a WHOLE lot of misfortune coupled with a lack of common sense and a small dose of healthy sarcasm. A full-fledged AGA that could ONLY happen to yours truly…

Shower Power

Find out what happens when you pray, “Lord, give me someone to share the gospel with today.” You just might end up in an unexpected situation, much to the amusement of your roommates…

Are You From… Where?

Although technically still an AGA, this is really a testimony and an exhortation to those who are a bit tentative about sharing the gospel – if you’ve ever felt nervous or intimidated by the idea of witnessing for the Lord, this one’s for you…

I’m NOT an Alcoholic…

This adventurette shows what happens when Amy decides to take a stand for her beliefs at the end of her New York City Teaching Fellows summer training… with hilarious and unintended results.

Under the Influence

This AGA episode features the first hints of SOS, Inc in the form of an actual testimony, combined with the hilarious hijinks involved in Amy’s first surgical experience…

(Un)Noticed

Many famous AGA terms and characters (Double Black Diamond Neighborhood, Needle-Flick Nurse) come from this diverse episode that takes us from the streets of Crown Heights to a Manhattan doctor’s office and ends with an unforgettable subway experience…

Subway Pregnancy

Want to know what it’s like to be called pregnant on board a crowded Q train? Check out this episode – the damage control attempts alone are worth the read…

The Slam Heard Round The World

A personal favorite Adventure, this episode shows what happens when an attempt to avoid Car Door Shock goes drastically wrong in the parking lot of a Stop N Shop…

Cross Eyed

The original AGA episode! With alarming parallel’s to the 2008 Transitions Retreat, read about how an unsuspecting alto got decked in the face with a large wooden cross before a gospel concert…

Crabbs and Coat Hangers

I know I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again.

Please don’t EVER think that a lack of AGA postings somehow indicates a lack of AGA in general. To think that my loyal constituency would dare to even CONSIDER the possibility that I no longer get myself into bizarre situations simply breaks my heart. For example, just in the past MONTH I have managed to:

• Leave four different items (at different times) at the Brooklyn Tabernacle and having to make four different return trips to collect said items.
• Break my cell phone after rolling over on it in my sleep. This is after months of dropping my cell phone almost daily with no problems.
• Have a completely unexplainable allergic reaction in the middle of an open mic session.
• Hurt myself in the following ways: doing a wheelbarrow race during BT Kids, pushing a virtually weightless bag trying to pretend it was heavy (also during BT Kids), scraping the entire front of my right shin after knocking over the Transitions bulletin board and trying to keep it from falling…

I think you get the idea.

However, I think there is one that absolutely takes the cake in terms of foolishness over the past few months, and I am pleased to bring it to you here. Ladies and gentleman, I present to you…. AMY’S GREAT ADVENTURES!!!

Amy's Great Adventures, Episode XXXI: Crabbs and Coat Hangers

It saddens me to pen this AGA episode, as one of its chief players has since passed on. She has been a beacon to the FTM community and has made appearances in just about every single Adventure. Things started looking grim over this past summer, and it just seemed like her time. After much prayer and counsel, I made the decision to let her go on to that great auto shop in the sky. Of course, there was also the fact that the Department of Motor Vehicles actually made it ILLEGAL for her to continue to occupy New York State roadways.

This AGA episode is hereby dedicated to Elmindreda, affectionately known as “Min,” the best 1997 Chevy Lumina that a girl could have ever wanted.

Rest in pieces, Min.

It was a bright sunny Saturday afternoon in mid-August as I cruised along Flatbush Avenue. Of course, by “cruised” I mean “stood still in the middle of traffic.” No one actually “cruises” on Flatbush Avenue unless they are traveling at 3:45 am or unless they are driving a dollar van (which, by definition, means that absolutely nothing can get in the way of cruisage – including traffic lights, other vehicles, police officers, pedestrians, etc.).

On this particular day, however, the fact that I was moving slower than mold didn’t bother me a bit. I was happily ensconced in my world of Steven Curtis Chapman, blasting “Magnificent Obsession” at full volume and having my own private jam session complete with steering wheel poundage and the occasional squeal of delight during a particularly effective key change. When the song finished, it randomly selected Jason Crabb’s “I’d Rather Have Jesus,” which almost caused an accident right then and there. This dude can sing his face off, and I have a particular affinity for his version of this song. Traffic finally came alive and I managed to turn off of Flatbush onto Pacific Street where parking spots were in abundance. I was Happy. Jason Crabb, no trouble with parking, no longer on Flatbush Avenue, fellowship to look forward to that evening… smooth sailing.

As those who have heard Jason’s Crabb’s “I’d Rather Have Jesus” are WELL aware, this is not a song that you just turn off midway through. So I put the car in park and blissfully belted my way through the rest of the song. When the song was over, I gently reached down to unplug my iPod (still in a state of worship) and accidentally hit the radio scan button. The radio scan, of course, immediately jumped to 92.7 FM – which, according to the website, is apparently New York’s Official Reggaeton Station. The volume was already cranked, so I was instantaneously blasted with a thousand decibels of unholiness. Couldn’t tell you what words they were actually saying, but I think I got the gist of what they were getting at, and it wasn’t “I’d rather have Jesus” to say the least.

Of course, this coming RIGHT after Jason’s soothing vocal was a bit jarring to say the least – I completely spazzed out and send the iPod flying as well as my cell phone. Once I managed to get the radio off, however, I realized the humor of the situation. “I’d rather…. have Jesus… than aaaaaaanything… this world… affords… BUM BAH-PAH BUM BAH BUM BAH-PAH BUM BAH.” Still chuckling, I started to check the car to make sure that I had collected the flying items. Cell phone, check. iPod and cable, check. I started to get out of the car and was about to shut the door when I immediately stopped – the windows! WHEW, praise the Lord. I had left all of the windows wide open and all of the doors unlocked – on Pacific Street! I might as well have put up a sign inviting someone to steal my car. I put my bags down next to the car, and then climbed back into the car and methodically locked each door and shut each window one by one, leaving only a small crack open so that I wouldn’t have to endure volcanic heat when I came back to the car in a couple of hours. For those of you who are thinking why I had to do this for each individual door/window rather than just push a button… you obviously have never met my car.

Still chuckling over the Jason Crabb/reggaeton episode, I climbed out of the car one more time, shut the door and started to gather my bags. It was around this time that I started to hear this low rumbling sound, but didn’t really think too much of it as I was trying to figure out the best way to carry all of my bags back to the house. I finally got myself adjusted and swung my purse over my shoulder… and then I noticed an ABSENCE of sound. I didn’t hear my keys jingling.

Aw, man.

Being that I lock my keys in my car on a weekly basis, I decided to buy one of those metallic boxes that you stick underneath the car in order to hold a spare car door key. “No problem,” I thought. “I’ll just get the key from underneath the car.” I bent down to get the box from underneath the car and I started to hear that rumbling sound a little stronger. It was then that I realized that I had locked my keys in the car… with the car still RUNNING.

How on EARTH did I manage to do that? Well, it’s really Jason Crabb’s fault. I never park the car without turning off the car – but I had to in this case because I needed the car to run to keep the music going. Then I got completely distracted by the unholiness blasting at me through the radio, the collection of splayed items, the doors and windows… somehow the actual turning off of the car and removal of keys didn’t quite make it on the list. Plus, it was right near Flatbush Avenue so the sound of the car running was completely drowned out by the sound of car horns.

Now I’m really laughing, and starting to praise Jesus for the little metallic box. Could you IMAGINE if I had locked my keys in my car with the car running and had no way to get in the car? Oh, man. What a DISASTER that would be!

*Sigh.*

I went back under the car to get the little metallic box and was having a bit of trouble locating it. I checked the front, back, front again… nothing. And then I screamed, out loud, on Pacific Street.

Todd had the little metallic box.

Why did Todd have the little metallic box? Because the weekend before, I had gone to Denver and had left Min’s spare keys with Todd. Incidentally, just in case you need further proof that AGAs are happening constantly – I actually went to Denver WITH the spare keys, meaning that the car was parked in Sunset Park with no way to move it (which is towing just WAITING to happen)… which meant that I had to actually overnight the keys back to Brooklyn. And, if you’d like to complete this lovely circle of vehicular nightmaredom, the PREVIOUS time I was in Denver, my car actually did get towed because someone who shall remain nameless parked her in front of someone’s driveway.

Getting back to Pacific Street, I now have to call Todd to ask him to bring the keys over so that I can get into my car. I can’t leave the car because it’s RUNNING and anyone willing to break a window would be able to happily drive away. I actually considered just waiting for the car to run out of gas… before I realized that I had JUST gotten gas on the way home. If you haven’t yet read “Amy’s Law” in the archived episode, “The Keys To Success,” you can probably at least infer what it entails.

So a quick phone call to Todd was in order – but I didn’t even get to the second ring before I let out my second outraged shriek in the middle of Pacific Street. I knew where Todd was, and it wasn’t in Brooklyn. It wasn’t in Manhattan. It was in UPSTATE NEW YORK.

At that point, I just called Nana. Nana is extremely helpful in AGA situations, having been a veteran recipient of many calls explaining what inane situation I’ve managed to climb into THIS time. Over time, Nana has developed a time-honored system that she employs whenever AGA strikes that consists of two simple, specific steps.

1. Listen until she understands what’s happened.
2. Laugh hysterically.

“Hi Nana. I’m outside, and I’ve locked my keys in my car and the car is running and I don’t have the spare because Todd has it and he’s upstate and Jason Crabb... hello?”

At this point, desperation had sunk in. I considered just breaking the window, but at that point there was no WAY that I could afford a replacement – and with my luck, a cop would be turning the corner and immediately arrest me as a suspected car thief (AGA veterans are nodding their heads in agreement). I told Nana to come down and to bring a wire clothes hanger. I’d like to take this moment to point out the fact that when I got out of the car the first time, ALL FOUR DOORS WERE UNLOCKED and ALL FOUR WINDOWS WERE OPENED. If I had realized that I didn’t have the keys just 60 seconds earlier, I would have been completely fine. But nooooo, I had to take the time to meticulously lock each and every door and roll up each and every window… and THEN notice the problem.

Nana came down, turned the corner, and immediately burst out laughing to the point where she actually had to stop walking and bend over. Once she finally composed herself, we got things started with the coat hanger. I was a decent physics student, so I was carefully contemplating angles and leverage when another car drove past and parked right in front of mine. A large man got out of the car and walked right over to us to ask what we were doing. At this point, Nana is practically in convulsions. Visions of undercover cops were dancing in my head, so I quickly tried to explain what was going on and that I was NOT a criminal and I was NOT breaking into my car and would he like to see my license and registration??? The man was actually quite helpful and tried to have a go at the clothes hanger himself. Eventually he gave up and advised us to call the fire department. Apparently they can unlock cars… who knew.

I am so proud to be able to say that after about 20 minutes of mental and physical anguish and extreme mutilation of an innocent coat hanger… I managed to unlock my door. I seriously can’t think of a moment when I was prouder of myself. Graduating from NYU summa cum laude… MYP of the ECAC volleyball championships… nope. Prying open my car door with a jacked up coat hanger? That’s what’s up. For the third time that day, I let out a war cry on Pacific Street accompanied by a victory dance that probably will never again be equaled in terms of ferocity. Nana had to be physically scraped off of the sidewalk.

Moral of the story? Consider two metallic boxes holding spare keys to put under your car. Block 92.7 FM from your car’s radio scan. And above all else, never listen to Jason Crabb while operating heavy machinery.

Until next time, we are….

Foolish Things Ministries: Confounding Wisdom and Common Sense In a Neighborhood Near You!