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!