Apologies to Stacy at Budget Emergency Roadside Assistance

En route to the site tours we’d bought timed tickets to, we hopped out of the car at the motor lodge, and Scott put the keys in the left front pocket of his jeans. The wi-fi in the lobby was great, it even had a power outlet if Scott was ok with sitting on an end table. With 20 minutes to spare before our 10 AM tour of Cliff Palace, Scott picked up the car keys from the table he was sitting on and we headed out the door. (Those of you who are good at naming the murderer before Agatha Christie does can see where this is headed.) Arriving at our car, we discovered that the keyless entry button no longer worked, and strangely, while the key fit into the lock, it wouldn’t turn. Fortunately, we’d left the back door window down just enough to fit an arm into, so we reached in and unlocked the door. Scott sat in the front seat and the car exploded in a wall of sound and light as the horn and hazards went off in tandem. He quickly inserted the key into the ignition, it fit, but, like the door, it wouldn’t turn. It was as if we were breaking into our own car. Scott began pushing buttons on the remote. Somewhere off in the distance, a car horn sounded in sympathy. Eventually, the fuss and bother settled down and we were left in silence to plot our next move. Nothing was working, so we called Budget. The woman answering the phone laughed at Scott and gave him the roadside assistance line. Stacy asked the usual “tech support” questions: are you using the right keys? (Of course, there’s the four-button remote, two black Chevy keys, and an ID tag.) Are you entering the correct car? (Yep, all our stuff’s in there.) Apparently, sometimes turning the steering wheel simultaneously with the ignition key can help. Amy ran out to try this while Scott kept Stacy on the line. He mentioned that there was no owner’s manual for us to check out. Apparently, it’s now common for rental car companies to put that in the trunk with the spare tire. Owner’s manual theft is a problem these days. Who knew? Amy’s attempt proved futile but Stacy said lots of times someone comes out and it starts right up, so she wanted us to do more turning and pressing and give her a ring back if it didn’t work. Being good doobies, we headed back to the parking lot. Getting into the car created explosion #2. Amy emptied the (stuffed) trunk, while Scott pressed buttons, turned steering wheels and attempted to crank the starter. A distant car horn sounded in sympathy. Eventually, Scott began to notice a correlation between his button pressing and the distant car horn. He wandered off to investigate while Amy frantically pawed through the owner’s manual. Strangely, our remote seemed to be working just fine on a different Chevy. Light bulbs went off (in Scott’s head this time) and Scott ran back into the motor lodge to return the keys for the white Chevy Malibu. And found our keys in his pocket. But hey, at least now we can figure out how the radio works!