A few nights ago, I was out working and roving with my friend when he mentioned he'd locked his keys in his car. He asked me if I knew how to break into a car in such a situation. I didn't, really, but I understood the theory of using an unraveled coat hanger to try and nick the lock. So, grabbing a couple, we ventured out to break into his car, forget how suspicious it looked.
Well, we tried everything. We wheedled. We needled. Three coat hangers laid slain in a mangled pile of bent metal. We touched the lock, but couldn't move it. We tried other doors. We even tried making like a TV show and having a tender moment so the lock would open up right when we made some headway.
Nothing.
Finally, once we'd exhausted all our options, one of us had the prescience to think to call campus police and see if they were trained in breaking into students' cars.
They were.
A very kind and patient officer came and, with our help, wedged the door open, air compressed it even farther, and even then couldn't use his metal rod to push up the lock. However, he was able to hook the keys, and triumphantly delivered them into my friend's eager hands.
Of course, my friend and I wouldn't have been able to take care of the car ourselves. We needed someone with more knowledge, wisdom, and capabilities to be able to free us. And yet, even though we'd ended up contributing very little, we both felt the raw elation of victory once all was said and done.
Amazing how that works sometimes.
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