Waking the Neighbors

It was 8:30 AM on a blissful Sunday morning. I had come out of the church having finished a meeting and was heading home. I approached the Schmonda Schmoddessy that I had brought with me to the church. Normally, I would drive the Schmoyota, but earlier that morning I had forgotten my keys in the bedroom, and I didn't want to wake the Buffy. So, instead of going back into the bedroom, I grabbed the van's spare key off the key hanging thingy on my way out the door.

The meeting had been nice, but it was time to go home to help Buffy get the kids ready for the 9:00 AM church meeting. I gripped the van's door handle, which is what you do when you want to open the van's door. Locked. I reached into my pocket to retrieve the keys, and remembered that I had brought the spare. The same spare key that was not attached to a little remote control device that lets you in.

No worries, I thought. Keys must still open the doors of cars. Surely, we have not advanced so far in society that door keys no longer open doors. What's next donkeys and monkeys no longer opening dons and mons?

So, I tried it, and it turned out that this particular spare key would not open the driver's side door, nor would it open the passengers side door. So I tried the hatch. The recently repaired hatch (remember the Schmear Schmake episode?). It so happens that this spare key, along with not opening doors, breaks hatch locks. I don't feel like describing what that means exactly, suffice it to say, the hatch lock was broken. Nevertheless, not all was lost. The newly broken lock allowed me to open the hatch. One problem, though, along with letting me open the hatch, the broken lock, coupled with someone opening the locked van, set off the car alarm!

Remember, I had the spare key. No little remote control device. The very device that is used to unlock the car doors, open the sliding doors, and--incidentally--turn off the car alarm.

So, at 8:30 AM my van was honking at one second intervals. The hatch was open, but none of the other doors were. I had little time to react. I grabbed the spare key. I jumped into the trunk, pulled the hatch closed behind me and began climbing toward the driver's seat. Meanwhile, the horn was sounding every second or so.

When I got to the driver's seat I tried every conceivable thing to stop the alarm from sounding. Nothing doing. From the van's perspective, someone had broken its back lock; climbed through it's collection of seats, car seats, and Happy Meal toys; and was now trying desperately to silence it in order to steal it. Help! (pause) Thief! (pause) Murder! (pause).

Mind you, the Culpepper home (my house) is located in a quiet residential neighborhood. It's almost always quiet--especially at 8:30 AM on a Sunday. Our church is located on the opposite end of this same neighborhood and although my street went to church at 9:00 AM, most of the neighborhood between my house and the church attend church at 1:00 PM.

But the alarm was not stopping and I was not sure it ever would. I had no choice but to take the spare key shove it into the ignition and drive, horns ablazing, the several blocks from the church to my house.

So, I did it. I drove. Fast.

Careening though the neighborhood waking all neighbors, I thought about rolling down the window and yelling a warning of some kind so at least I would seem less of a jerk, The British are coming! Get your food supply! Only you can prevent forest fires! Bring out your dead! But instead I covered my face and drove as fast as the van would allow.

Just as I was pulling into my drive way. The alarm stopped.