I have a car. I have a key fob.
My key fob has four buttons: Lock, Unlock, Trunk, Remote Start.
That last one's my favorite. I used it all the time. You have to press Lock then hold down the Remote Start button to start the car. If you don't press Lock first, it won't work. It was my saving grace in the winter and just darn handy every other time of the year. But a couple months ago, the Lock button stopped working. Every once in a while I could get it if I really poked at the button and pushed it at different angles. But eventually it stopped working altogether, which meant there was no Remote Start for me. Fine. I can deal. Then the Unlock button stopped working. *sigh* Okay. I can stick my key in the keyhole like a normal person. No biggie. A little irritating in the dark, but manageable. Then my rubber ducky key chain that shines an LED light out of its beak and quacks stopped working. Boooo. I haven't replaced it yet. It's still hanging on the key chain.
Pause.
My car.
You know how with some cars, you can turn the key in the lock once to unlock the driver's door, then turn it again to unlock all the doors? My car doesn't do that. Also, there is only a lock on the driver's door.
Resume.
It's bloody buggering cold. It was almost sixty degrees a couple days ago. Today, it's 18 degrees (We're still in double digits, yay!) with a wind chill at 4 degrees (ick) and 15 mph (gusts at 28.2 mph, bloody hell) and I'd like to point out that I live RIGHT NEXT TO Lake Michigan. Like, I can see it out my window. It's frigging cold.
So there I was, this morning, channeling Lt. Uhura in my black skirt and tights, red sweater and black knee-high boots, wrapped in a wool coat, thick gloves, and a hat, bogged down with my purse, lunch box, and a bag that I toss a book and papers in. I didn't think I'd need my snow boots, the snow was only an inch or so. I've slogged through worse in tennis shoes.
I pack-muled my way over to my car, stepping through the deep ruts in frozen mud, my way lit by the automatic porch light. I stuck my key in the lock and turned. The porch light turned off. I pulled the handle.
Nothing.
I brushed some snow from the window and peered in, trying the duck light before remembering it doesn't work. Squinting through the dark, I see the door is unlocked. I try the handle again. Nothing.
Crap.
In a futile attempt, I tried turning the key again, hoping the Chevy Fairy had stopped by in the middle of the night and upgraded my car. Nope. Only the driver's door is unlocked. I glanced at all the other doors verifying that none of them had locks on them. WHO DESIGNED THESE STUPID CARS AND DECIDED TO SELL THEM IN MICHIGAN????? I was mentally yelling as my neighbor came out. She offered me a ride to work (you know, the kind of obligatory offer that one hopes isn't taken up). I spared us both and said, no thanks, I'd figure it out.
Still holding my purse, lunch box, and bag while balancing on the upward thrust of a deep and frozen mud rut in high heeled boots, I eyeballed my car and wondered, how do I unfreeze my door?
Thought 1: Hot water.
Immediately rejected.
I've lived in Michigan long enough to know that's a BAD idea. For those of you lucky enough to not live in the frozen wilderness, I will explain. Hot water will thaw the ice, yes, and temporarily relieve you of your immediate problem. However, it can and does create a larger problem. You see, hot water is still water, and in the brutally cold pits of Hell, even hot water will quickly cool and freeze. And if you thought a little ice on the outside of your door was bad, you'll discover what it's like to have every nook and cranny of the door freeze. In short, your boned.
Luckily, I prefer to learn from others' mistakes, so haven't done that one myself. I wasn't about to try it this morning.
Thought 2: Hair dryer.
Rejected.
The distance from the building to my car is far too great. I don't have an extension cord long enough.
(Subthought: Buy one of those orange extension cords.)
Thought 3: I'm cold and tired of debating this while Jack Frost is trying to rip my face off.
Thought 4: Google.
I went inside, trudged up the stairs, dumped all the crap I was carrying, nearly did a Scott Hamilton back flip thanks to a chunk of packed snow on the heel of my boot, and plopped down in front of my computer, grumbling darkly. Stupid winter. Stupid ice. Stupid snow. Stupid cold. Stupid work. Blah blah blah.
My consultation with Google gave me two ideas.
Idea 1: De-icer spray.
I have that! Oh wait. It's in my car. Grumble, cuss, grumble.
Idea 2: Alcohol.
DUH!
I should have remembered that. I don't have vodka, but I DO have rubbing alcohol. Besides, the Internet peeps suggest not using vodka unless in dire straits...because if you live where you're having this problem, you're going to want to drink it, rather than waste it on your car.
Rubbing alcohol it is.
I grabbed my bottle, loaded up like a pack mule again, and tramped back outside. The sky was starting to lighten a little, but not enough to really see anything. My porch light got me back to my car before fizzling out.
My rubbing alcohol is in a squeezy bottle. In the past, I have found it a little irritating when I wanted to put some on a cotton ball because I always end up squeezing too much and shooting the alcohol in an arc over the cotton ball. Today, though, this was a good thing. I stood back and squeezed the shit out of that bottle. I squirted every inch of space where that stupid door was supposed to open. When I tried the handle and the door still wouldn't open, I squeezed some more. Squirt, squirt, squirt. Take that!
Finally, I felt the door give a little. Exciting! Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle, squirt, squirt, squirt, jiggle, jiggle OPENED! Triumphantly, I punched the air. I threw all my stuff inside, sat in the driver's seat, closed the door, opened the door (to make sure I could), then closed it again and started her up. She started up perfectly. Yay! I glanced in the rear view mirror. Snow. Blech.
I unlocked ALL the doors, grabbed my snow brush (which broke a couple weeks ago and is stuck fully extended like a bad snow brush viagra accident) and the de-icer and took care of the back window as quickly and half-assed as I could. I was afraid my commute would be treacherous and I'd need extra time to get to work.
As it was, I only slid a couple times and barely even fish-tailed, which altogether was a pretty good accomplishment considering some of the roads I was on could have passed for an Olympic level ice rink.
Now I'm at work and the rubbing alcohol is sitting on my desk. You can bet that baby is never going to be left in the car. (The de-icer is because if you've never come out of the mall/restaurant/whatever to find that sneaky frost that scrapes off one stupid flake at a time all over your windshield, then you're a lucky dog, you.)
Getting a new key fob is starting to feel a little more urgent, now.
Happy freaking Thursday, everyone.
This is Lt. Uhura, signing out.
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