I made horchata to-day. Little did I know this would lead to my untimely demise…
Actually, horchata is cool; what really caused my untimely demise was snow cones.
It was a bright and sunny early June day, and I was putting together a bed. Well, if you want to get technical, I was taking it apart so I could figure out how to put it back together. My objective? To put shiny new wheels on it so we could roll it about onstage, because that’s just the way it goes.
After achieving maximum crappy un-wheeliness, I was faced with a new dilemma: How to get the new wheels on. I convened a crack team of the world’s best community-theatre problem solvers, consisting primarily of myself, my mum, and two other people.
“Blah blah blah,” said one dude. “We should do this!” and then outlined his master plan for attaching the bed to a moving platform.
“Ingenuous!” my mum replied. “Go get the parts, Shelby.”
An awkward pause whilst I tried to figure out how to turn the situation to my advantage. To get the parts I needed, I would home to go to Home Depot and next to Home Depot was one of those street vendor kiosk things–I don’t know what you call it, really–that sold snow cones. “Alright,” I said. “Can I get a snow cone?” She nodded and leapt for joy, bumping my head on the metaphorical low-lying ceiling above me.
“But you have to take your little brother.”
I get my fart-nosed little brother out of the car and we head in, snagging a buggy along the way. Everything’s fine and dandy so far–but then, after talking to three different employees and gaining a headache in the process, we still can’t find the blasted things. I try again, and finally talk to somebody who knows what they’re doing.
Success! I have found the part. Unfortunately, it comes in seven different sizes so I have to get a tape measure from halfway across the store and run into this guy I did Comp I with. His tractor beams pull me in and we end up talking for five minutes before I free myself. With the right part and a thoroughly optimistic outlook on life, I head to the register.
The lady scans the parts and it comes up at $55 USD, give or take. My mum only gave me forty, and I had left my wallet in the car, expecting it to cost much less. “I gotta go get more cash out of my car,” I tell the lady, and she just smiles.
I go out to the parking lot and swear. I parked on the other side of the building. A rush and push and I start striding across like some sort of super ninja (which made me wonder if the theory of relativity affects awesomeness, too…) and got to my car. I grab my wallet, and being lazy, decide to drive over. I put my brother in the passenger’s seat and go.
He doesn’t want to get out. I yell, “Seth, c’mon,” and grab him, making sure to lock the door. As the door begins its swing, I notice a faint buzzing and the dam of my happiness collapses. I check my pockets, all of them, but to no avail. I run around to the other side of the car and see, quite clearly, in the ignition my car keys. Fudge, I swore. Fudge fudge fudge.
I paid for the parts and went over to customer service. I waited. Isn’t weird how much waiting happens in real life? I mean, it’s like every other moment you’re–
“Can I help you?” she asks me.
“Erm, I’m locked out of my car.”
“Do you have a slim jim I could use or–”
She shakes her head and says, “We can’t force entry into someone’s car.”
We go over to the entrance and I try to call my mum, who is now busy teaching a ballet class. She doesn’t answer. I call my dad, and he doesn’t answer either. I sit there for a bit, getting frustrated, wondering what type of idiot locks his keys in the car and try for my mum again. This time, someone else answers–“Hello” I try to speak but I can’t and I end up hanging up the phone. At that moment, sitting, crying in a Home Depot in the middle of America, the only thought tough enough to enter my head is–I could really use that snow cone about now.
P.S. It turns out that my car wasn’t all the way locked after all and so I could get in. I’m betting this either means there is a God and he loves me, or I’m a melodramatic idiot. Actually, much more likely is that there’s an evil leprechaun that follows me around and tries to drive me insane.