Jill's Journal: Karma has a sense of humor

Apparently, karma has a sense of humor.

I learned that lesson on Saturday when I locked my keys – along with my purse and cell phone – inside my Buick.

But let me back up.

My Saturday started at McHardy Park, where I had just finished taking pictures at the Lynx cross country invitational. As I headed back to my car, I noticed I had a problem. Someone had parked a car behind me, leaving me with very little room to escape. Fortunately, the driver was still sitting in the idling vehicle.

Unfortunately, the driver was a teenage girl who, from our brief encounter, clearly was not having the best day.

She was in tears.

Apparently, a warning light had popped up on her dashboard concerning her brake pads. She didn’t know what to do, she told me. She had to teach Sunday School the next day. She had somewhere she needed to be.

Basically, her Saturday was going about as well as mine eventually would.

I offered her a ride, but there was one small problem.

She had to move her car first. After a little convincing, she finally moved it, freeing me to leave the park.

I drove off thinking I had done my good deed for the day.

Clearly, I had not.

My next stop was Sunshine, where I made my weekly grocery run. With my list in hand, I roamed the aisles, checked out through the self-checkout and hauled my groceries out to the parking lot.

And, in what I initially thought was a stroke of good fortune, I had snagged the parking space right next to the cart rack.

What could possibly go wrong?

I tossed my purse into the back seat with the groceries, closed the door and heard it.

Click.

That’s right.

Locked out.

Of my own car.

I tried the hatch.

Maybe it would be willing to negotiate.

Nope.

Apparently, my Buick was in a very firm “no visitors” mood.

So, I trudged back into Sunshine and found Debbie. I explained my predicament, and she was kind enough to dial 911 for me.

That’s when I learned that police officers no longer unlock cars. I had an inkling that was probably the case, but hearing it confirmed didn’t solve my problem.

I do have roadside assistance, of course. But there was just one tiny problem with that plan. The information I needed to contact the company was – you guessed it – inside my locked-up car. Along with my cell phone. And my purse. And pretty much everything else I needed to solve the problem.

Fortunately, Debbie came to my rescue again, pulling out her own phone and looking up locksmiths.

I called Fred the Fixer, whom I had used many years ago.

No answer.

I guess Fred was’t in the mood to fix anything that day.

And this was Saturday at the grocery store, which meant Debbie had plenty of other customers to take care of.

Then enters Brady Olson.

Brady is one of the nicest guys I know, and he went above and beyond to help me. He tried to help me contact the roadside assistance company, but once again, we ran into the same little snag: They needed my account number. The account number that was inside my locked-up Buick. The Buick parked in the space right next to the cart rack. So much for my lucky parking spot.

Brady next Googled locksmiths, and I selected Mr. Speedy Locksmith.

And speedy he was.

About 25 minutes later, I spotted a white van with “Mr. Speedy Locksmith” emblazoned on the side pulling into the parking lot. Within minutes, the Buick and I had been reunited. My world was open again.

My wallet, unfortunately, was about to be considerably less full. The bill for my little adventure came to $90, plus tax.

That’s a pretty expensive reminder to check your keys before closing the door.

While I waited for Mr. Speedy, I took up residence on the bench outside the front of Sunshine. During my stay, I had the opportunity to share my predicament with several people. Apparently, locking your keys in your car is an excellent conversation starter.

I also had a particularly meaningful conversation about the Marching Lynx stories that appeared in last week’s paper. So, at least I was able to do a little newspaper business while waiting for my rescue.

And as I sat there, I couldn’t help but think about the irony of my day.

Just moments earlier, I had been trying to help a teenager who was having a car crisis. I had offered her a ride.

I had encouraged her. I had patiently waited while she moved her car so I could leave.

And then, 20 minutes later I was the one sitting outside a grocery store with no car keys, no phone and no way to call for help. Maybe the universe was keeping score.

Or maybe it was simply reminding me that no matter how long you’ve been driving, how old you are or how many times you’ve successfully completed a grocery run, you are never too experienced to do something really dumb.

In my defense, I was already thinking about what was next on the days’ itinerary.

And I was thinking about groceries.

And the purse just seemed to belong in the back seat.

But there was one important detail I forgot: The keys.

Next Saturday, I think I’ll add a new item to my grocery list:

Milk.

Eggs.

Bread.

CHECK FOR KEYS.

It might be the best $90 lesson I’ve ever purchased.