Krista's Wild Night Out

I just had to chronicle the story of last night for posterity. (WARNING: Um it's kind of a short story made long. You know I like to do that.) Yesterday afternoon I got a call from a family I teach asking if I could move Thursday's lessons to that night (last night). There are three kids, so I'd have to block out an hour and a half, which I could do if I spaced enough time to get to my 7:00-8:00 lessons. So I scheduled them for 5:00. By 5:30 my car was getting very cold and the family still wasn't home, so I gave them a call. They had gotten caught up with something else and would be home in 10-15 minutes. By 6:00 they pulled up, and I squeezed in a frantic 15-minute lesson for each of the kids before rushing off to my 7:00 lessons about 20 minutes away.

All of this only relevant because you should note two key details:

1 - I was away from home for the duration of 5 lessons plus travel time, so about 3 1/2 hours
2 - I hadn't visited the ladies' room since around 3:00 that afternoon.

Also, the car's gas gauge was on E.

Finally, 8:00 rolled around and I was off like a shot in my car, headed for the nearest gas station as soon as possible lest I chug to a stop in the middle of the pike with an empty gas tank and full bladder. I made it to a gas station, hopped out and started filling the tank. While I was waiting, I turned back to the driver's door to put my credit card back in my wallet - I was ready to hop in and run as soon as that tank was full. I pulled on the handle... nothing. In horror my eyes dropped to the door lock, which was ever so slightly lower than it ought to be.

Now we will pause here to insert the inevitable rolling of eyes and snorts from those of you who know about me and my record of locking my keys in the car. I think you can only find one incident I've ever blogged about, here. Not included on my blog: the time when I was stuck at Wal-Mart with newborn Kate during my first week in Maryland, and the time when I locked baby Kate IN THE RUNNING CAR WITH THE KEYS at the library. Disclaimer: this time it was NOT MY FAULT! I did not even unconsciously lock the door as I got out - I must have barely bumped the lock or something. Oh yes, and of course I've taken measures to prevent this habit in the future, like stashing a spare car key in the interior pocket of my purse. Which, of course, I left on the front seat when I got out to pump gas.

Anyway.

I went inside the gas station, a little 2' x 4' space lined with chips and a soda refrigerator, and asked the solitary-looking young man at the desk whether I could borrow either a phone or a coat hanger. He chose the phone, and I called Travis.

Travis: Hello?
Krista: Um, hi. It's me.... *pause* You know how I frequently lock my keys in the car?
Travis: Yes.
Krista: ... Can you come rescue me?
Travis: Where are you?
Krista: At a gas station... I don't really know where. It's a Shell station and across the street is another Shell station... Oh, and also across the street I can see a Trader Joe's-
Travis: [musing thoughtfully] I've still never been to Trader Joe's. (He says this every time I mention Trader Joe's)
Krista: *pause*... right, well, that's where I am.
Travis: Do you have an address?
Krista: Oh! Yes! I see it! [Reads it backwards from the glass on the store front]

Then Travis wondered whether he should get the girls out of bed and take them or try to call someone to come over. The conversation lasted another good 5 minutes. Eventually we finally hung up. And next I asked the employee if they had a restroom. He pointed to a greasy lanyard with a key hanging on the end and told me it was (of course) outside. I didn't even care - I raced around the building and tried to open the door first without the key. (Duh.) When I finally got in, I laughed out loud. I couldn't have designed a typical "gas station restroom" better myself. I found myself wishing I had a camera, but in the same moment realized a camera couldn't also capture the smell, which was most of the charm. I've been to the zoo lots of times and still never smelled such smells. Also, the floor was positively black. Now normally I am satisfied with draping toilet tissue over public restroom seats, but in this case I was sure the filth would penetrate even toilet paper. Plus the draft from outside kept blowing the toilet paper away. So - let me just give a TMI warning in advance along with an apology - I decided to hover. Ladies, you know what I'm talking about, right? This also may or may not be a good time to mention I was wearing my favorite stilletto boots, adding a little to the humor of the whole situation. Anyway, it was a long time to hover, so I just thought really hard of all the Jillian Michaels workouts I had endured to try to add some strength to my poor legs, because there was NO WAY I was coming into contact with that toilet seat (which was up, to begin with, of course, and I had to kick it down with the toe of my beloved boot). I used my elbow to turn on the hot water faucet, and nothing came out. So I went for the cold and fortunately, it was not yet frozen. Then I went for the soap. You're already laughing at me, right? Because asking for soap in that place would be like going on an Antarctic expedition and wondering if we could get Chinese takeout.

Well, after I survived the gas station restroom, I went back into the little store. Which was awkward, because what am I going to do? Stand in the middle of that little box for 20 minutes? But it was freezing and I had no choice. Luckily that sweet little employee sent me into a little side corridor that must be considered a "break room" where there was a space heater and a two-week-old newspaper. I sat on a matted old fabric chair and browsed over the success of a local girls' basketball team, then found myself scrutinizing the little room. It was plastered randomly with posters insisting that my friends and family would love a Shell gift card for Christmas and warning me of the serious dangers of worn shocks. Then my eyes fell on a tattered paperback. I could just read the title around the curling cover: "Guidebook to Life". Instantly I was hit with a pang of sadness. I thought of that young man out there, working alone on a late Tuesday night in a miniscule gas station with subhuman sanitary conditions, making plans for a solid future or an education or career advancement (hopefully the Shell station was meant to be temporary), planning optimistically for the American Dream and yet plodding away at a minimum-wage job as a gas station attendant. I don't know, maybe the book wasn't even his, but that image was suddenly laid out before me. Suddenly I felt so silly sitting there, and so out of place, and then I felt silly (and kind of stuck-up) for feeling out of place. In a few minutes my dashing husband would come and whisk me away to our warm apartment where I would spend my days leisurely playing with our children and deciding which outfit to pair with my favorite boots. What different lives we are each dropped into. Selfishly I never really thought of Gas Station Guy in terms of a person; he was just an employee put in place to serve me, the customer. Maybe it was his initial gesture of giving up the seat by the space heater for me that made me stop and think.

Well, Travis did arrive about 30 minutes later, and we took our tired girls home. As soon as we got in the door, Travis said, "Go to bed!" and Brooklyn turned and sprinted for her crib. Poor little sleepy girls! That's the end of my wild night out, but the epilogue of the story is this: This was not Travis's last trip of the night to rescue someone with a key-locking problem! Around 11:30 we got a call from a friend of his who needed him to rescue him from the metro station! It was only hilarious because I'd already done the same thing hours before. Thank goodness for Travis the Key-Wielding Super-Hero!