Well, what do you know ...
Okay, so yesterday Dian and I made a pilgrimage to her holy of holies, IKEA.
When we pulled into the garage, we passed a rather distraught looking young woman, around 22 or 23, standing next to a nice BMW sedan. I headed her way when we parked, in case I could help, when I overheard her on her cellphone, telling somebody that she was locked out of her car and that she'd called the police for help.
I was about to get my kit out of our car (I have some specialized tools in my bag ... don't ask why), when I noticed something odd in the woman's hand.
I motioned to Dian and asked her to get back in the car so I could wait around to see how this was going to play out. Dian was visibly torn between curiosity (when I've made this request in the past, she hasn't been disappointed with the results) and shopping, but realized that IKEA wasn't going anywhere and sat back down.
I pointed out the woman, explained that she was locked out of her car, and added what I'd observed.
Dian stared ... then started to laugh.
With a few minutes, a patrol car pulled up next to the BMW and a very calm officer, looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, stepped out. We rolled down our windows and listened.
She: I'm terribly sorry, officer, but I'm locked out of my car. Can you open it for me?
He: Certainly, Ma'am. Are your keys locked inside? (He added that last bit while peering into the passenger window of her car.)
She: Oh, no! I have them right here. (She jingled the keys I'd noticed in her hand earlier.)
He: Um ... you have your keys, but are locked out of your car?
She: Look ... (She pointed the largest key at her car and pressed the button on it that should have unlocked the doors of the BMW.) See? It's broken or maybe the battery is dead, but that leaves me locked out either way.
The policeman showed incredible self-control and, after standing silently for a moment, took the keys from her hand, walked around to the driver's side, and - more watching the woman than his own hand - slowly inserted the key into the lock and unlocked the door.
Her reaction to this simple act was astonishing. You would have thought he'd just levitated the car or something. She gushed over the amazing fact that the door even had a keyhole, much less the incredible good fortune that the same key that started the car could unlock the door.
He (deadpan): Yes, it is odd, isn't it. It's a safety function that dealers rarely mention.
She thanked the officer profusely and even offered him a twenty dollar tip for his services, which he turned down as politely as possible. She then drove away, undoubtedly late returning to the fantasy land she lived at, while the officer sat back against the trunk of his patrol car and had himself a nice chuckle.
Made spending the day at IKEA almost pleasant.
When we pulled into the garage, we passed a rather distraught looking young woman, around 22 or 23, standing next to a nice BMW sedan. I headed her way when we parked, in case I could help, when I overheard her on her cellphone, telling somebody that she was locked out of her car and that she'd called the police for help.
I was about to get my kit out of our car (I have some specialized tools in my bag ... don't ask why), when I noticed something odd in the woman's hand.
I motioned to Dian and asked her to get back in the car so I could wait around to see how this was going to play out. Dian was visibly torn between curiosity (when I've made this request in the past, she hasn't been disappointed with the results) and shopping, but realized that IKEA wasn't going anywhere and sat back down.
I pointed out the woman, explained that she was locked out of her car, and added what I'd observed.
Dian stared ... then started to laugh.
With a few minutes, a patrol car pulled up next to the BMW and a very calm officer, looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, stepped out. We rolled down our windows and listened.
She: I'm terribly sorry, officer, but I'm locked out of my car. Can you open it for me?
He: Certainly, Ma'am. Are your keys locked inside? (He added that last bit while peering into the passenger window of her car.)
She: Oh, no! I have them right here. (She jingled the keys I'd noticed in her hand earlier.)
He: Um ... you have your keys, but are locked out of your car?
She: Look ... (She pointed the largest key at her car and pressed the button on it that should have unlocked the doors of the BMW.) See? It's broken or maybe the battery is dead, but that leaves me locked out either way.
The policeman showed incredible self-control and, after standing silently for a moment, took the keys from her hand, walked around to the driver's side, and - more watching the woman than his own hand - slowly inserted the key into the lock and unlocked the door.
Her reaction to this simple act was astonishing. You would have thought he'd just levitated the car or something. She gushed over the amazing fact that the door even had a keyhole, much less the incredible good fortune that the same key that started the car could unlock the door.
He (deadpan): Yes, it is odd, isn't it. It's a safety function that dealers rarely mention.
She thanked the officer profusely and even offered him a twenty dollar tip for his services, which he turned down as politely as possible. She then drove away, undoubtedly late returning to the fantasy land she lived at, while the officer sat back against the trunk of his patrol car and had himself a nice chuckle.
Made spending the day at IKEA almost pleasant.