Elected to outrun the tryptofan syndrome by taking the small varsol tub out to the shop and introducing the jic fittings to some air. Just get back in the house and notice that the neighbour is out at his wife's car with the stepson and they are trying to get the car open. So, okay, this looks interesting and worth the expenditure of some energy so I wander over. Come the find out that her keys are MIA and they are trying to get into the car to see if they are somewhere inside. Now , this is not some frou-frou hard top chick-mobile, this is just an elderly more door
impala that has been ridden hard and put away wet more times than i care to consider. And the doors on it are full frame with the recessed sill/shoulder that makes slipping in an instrument of access something of an exercise in frustration. First thing I learn is that they don't have a coat hanger. Not surprised, metal wire coat hangers have become something of a local rarity. Not about to sacrifice one of the few extras that I happen to have but, there is movement out in the driveway of another neighbour across the street so over I wander to see if she has a spare that I could borrow. No problemo, no deposit/no return.
At this point the door has been given the attention of a screwdriver to pry the window/door frame away from the door jamb. Good thing they are doing the prying. So I make a shape out of the hanger and get Chris, the neighbour, to slip down and in past the door seal. if he tears the seal up, well, it wasn't me. Not going to recount the near misses and hassles but I finally get the inner door lever cocked open far enough that he can slip a stronger hook alongside of mine and the door pops open. And,....................., wait for it....................................................
NO KEYS!!!!
Not even a hint of a key. Cabin looks like she lives in it. So now, what about the trunk?? No key, no power, no trunk latch but, the back seat back does pull away, so he stuffs his kid into the trunk from the back seat side and the kid pops the mechanical release and that gets us into the trunk; still no keys. At this point I start looking for Fender, their cat, because it would amuse a cat in some arcane feline fashion to play a game of keep away with the car keys should the opportunity arise. Nope, no Fender. Just Houdini, aka Hairbag, who is pereniallly and insatiably curious, in this case enough to jump on the car, walk up the body to the roof and sit there like some kind of feline sidewalk superintendent watching us humans; cats don't like LED flashlights, ask me how I know.
So I left them to their search. made sure the shop was locked up, refilled the varsol tub and threw another roller bearing set into it to soak and headed for my version of the Monte Python Comfy Chair. I suppose at some point the keys will turn up; my bet is that they are in her purse in some side pocket that she has used and forgotten. but no way am I going to suggest that. Not my wife/not my job. Tomorrow is another day.
Nick
Nick
www.fibercellinc.com
