Keyless

by Beth Alexander Walsh

     A few years ago I was working out a plot problem in a story I was writing, when I noticed the time and realized I still had errands to run before picking my son up at school. I quickly made my way to the bank and dry cleaners and stopped at a convenience store to pick up a few items as I continued to work the storyline out in my head. I paid at the counter, thanked the clerk and hurried back out to my burgundy Honda Pilot. I tossed the grocery bag on the passenger seat along with my pocketbook, which slid over the edge emptying its contents on the floor. As I gathered up my wallet, phone, pens, cough drops and lipstick, I noticed that there were a pair of sneakers on the floor.

 Funny, I don’t remember my son leaving his sneakers there this morning.

     As I picked up my pocketbook sundries, I noticed a water bottle filled with wads of chewing tobacco in the cup holder and realized that I was sitting in the wrong burgundy Honda Pilot! Grabbing my belongings, I swiftly got out of the car and jumped into mine, which was parked two spaces over. I exhaled in relief that no one witnessed my stupidity and looked through my pocketbook for my keys.

I CAN’T FIND THEM!  CRAP!  

     Frantically, I ran back to the other car and started looking for my keys, now noticing a pair of dirty socks to go with the filthy sneakers, along with a combination of trash and clothes polluting the back seat.  I searched through the console and over to the driver’s seat aware that it’s owner was probably moments from coming out of the store. Still…no keys!  

    

     I ran back to my Honda Pilot and dumped the contents of my pocket book on the driver’s seat while standing outside the car. Nothing. I checked my pockets and decided I needed to check the other car one last time. While I lifted the floor mats, a dark haired man in his late twenties/early thirty’s appeared next to the open door. Mortified, I explained my mistaken identity of his car and the fact that I was now keyless. He laughed and we both started searching his car, moving the search back to mine when no keys were produced. It finally occurred to me that maybe the keys were left in the store. Honda Pilot II guy graciously offered to wait while I went and checked. As I walked towards the counter the clerk yelled out “Hey, I was wondering when you were coming back!”   

   

   Returning to the parking lot, I humbly held up my keys while simultaneously thanking and apologizing to Honda Pilot II guy. He laughed and wished me a great day, and I am certain he had some fun regaling the tale of the crazy middle aged lady sitting in his car. My only hope is that he picked up his socks and discarded his bottle of chaw.

     

    I wish I could say that was the last time I absentmindedly went to someone else’s car, but this past Christmas, I reached for the handle of a white car that looked like mine. This time I realized my mistake before I opened the door and stepped away from the vehicle. Unfortunately, my entire family was sitting in my car watching the whole scene.

    Oh well, at least I got to write about it.