A few years ago, I was hanging out at home. RitaMarie had already gone to bed and Nicole and I were settling in to watch t.v., hoping to watch something that didn't involve any sort of animation or canned sound effects. As Nicole channel surfed, the phone rang and the caller ID announced it was my mom. (As an aside, I consider the caller ID to be like the guy at a royal ball who announces each guest as they arrive. You know, the guy with the fancy outfit and powdered wig who would say, "Presenting Sir Whatshisname and his wench" (women's rights were non-existent then, so yes, she was introduced as a wench, now stop interrupting my story. Ok, so I Googled the name of the guy and found quite a sassy argument going on between people arguing that this announcer is called a Marshal, a Herald, or a Sargent at Arms. I'm going with Marshal, but I like Herald better). Only the voice we have announcing phone visitors into our home is a bit flatter and often mispronounces things. In this case, our female Marshal heralded (see how I did that there? I used both terms. I'm an equal opportunity writer) "Call from Andrade, A". I felt the need to fire her after that as no one in our family has a name that starts with the letter A, but it turns out she's union, so I couldn't. End aside.)) So, as I was saying, the Marshal heralded a call from my mother, so I answered and we began our typical chat. Our chats often go something like this:
Me: Hi, mom
Mom: Hi. Is everything ok? I tried calling your house before and no one answered. I then tried calling your cell (which, if I'm home is in the other room) and no one answered and I started to get worried.
Me: Everything is fine mom. We were out doing some shopping and then we were doing stuff at home before getting RitaMarie to bed and now here we are.
Mom: Oh. Ok. I was getting worried that something happened.
***As a second aside in this post, this is how many of our conversations go. I often come home to frantic phone messages on our phone asking if everything is ok because I didn't answer. At times, she will have left both messages on our house phone, thinking one of them is the cell phone, and this sends her into an even bigger tizzy. I am starting to think my mother's relationship with phones should be it's own post. Second aside over***
Me: Everything is fine. How are you guys?
Mom: We're good. Dad got stuck in the car, so you're brother is out helping him. (Now, I wasn't shocked that there was a problem with my dad's car as this probably happened in 2014 and my dad drives a 1996 Nissan Pathfinder whose "check engine" light had been on for about 6 months with the mechanic telling my dad to, basically, ignore it).
Me: Ok. Where did he get stuck?
Mom: He's in the driveway.
Me: Oh. Would the car not start?
Mom: No. He was coming home and the car died in the driveway. Now he's stuck.
Me: But, mom, he's in the driveway. He can just call a tow truck or something. What is Chris going to do?
Mom: He's stuck inside the car.
Me: Inside the car? What do you mean?
Mom: The battery died and he can't unlock the doors, so he's stuck.
Me: Sitting in stunned silence on the other end of the phone
Mom: Are you still there?
Me: Yes, but I don't understand. What do you mean he can't unlock the doors?
Mom: He called me from the car and told me the battery died and he couldn't unlock the doors, so I was trying to get the cables to hook up the battery when your brother came over.
Me: More stunned silence.... ... ... Ok.
I think the conversation went on from there, but I was desperately trying to figure out what was happening in my parents' driveway, so I was a bit disconnected from the rest of the conversation. About 30 minutes later or so, the Marshal heralded a call from Andrade, C and I promptly answered my brother's call. When I answered, I could tell from the tone of his voice that he had a doozy of a story to tell me, but I jumped in first by saying, "Uh. What the hell is going on down there (meaning Danbury)? Mom said dad got stuck in the car, which I thought meant it broke down, but I'm beginning to think she meant something else." He responds by saying, "Yep" and I can hear the smile on his face as he's chomping at the bit to tell me the story. "Ok", I say. "What happened?" He proceeds to tell me that he had gotten a call from my dad on his cell phone to please come over to the house to help him with the car. My brother drove over (even though he literally lives on the other side of the block) and found our mother, in her housecoat, trying to hook a portable battery up to the Pathfinder that is in the driveway with the hood up. As he gets out of the car, he spots my father in the driver's seat frantically calling out directions to my mother as to how to hook up the battery. My brother immediately ran over and grabbed the battery out of her hand out of pure fear that she could potentially hook this up in a way that would blow up the neighborhood. He then tries to calm the whole situation, by asking my parents what is happening. My mother goes on to tell him that the car battery has died and my father is now stuck in the car. Even though I wasn't there, I am sure he had the same dumbfounded look on his face as I had listening to my mother on the phone. He then turned to my dad, whose window was cracked slightly open, and said, "Dad, what's the matter?" My dad went on to explain that the car battery had died and all the doors were locked, he had the only set of keys with him, so he couldn't get out of the car. I can imagine there was another period of stunned silence before the following conversation took place:
Chris: Dad, just unlock the doors.
Dad: I can't! The battery is dead and the button doesn't work. It doesn't have power (as if to tell my brother he was an idiot who couldn't figure out that a dead battery does nothing for power locks on a car).
Chris: Dad, just move the button (meaning the actual manual lock on the door. You know, the one that goes up and down and allows you to unlock and lock doors at will regardless of an electrical source. Yeah, that one).
Dad: (Growing increasingly frustrated). I can't! I tried it and there's no power! It doesn't work (in demonstration, he hits the electric lock/unlock button). See?!?!
Chris: No, dad. The other lock (now attempting to point to the lock).
Dad: (Now beginning to yell in Portuguese as his anxiety of being locked in his car increases) It doesn't work! Just hook up the battery, so I can get out!
At this point, my brother realized trying to talk him through this was completely unproductive, so he decides to humor him and just hook up the battery. As soon as he does, my father pushes the lock/unlock button and extricates himself from the car. My brother calmly disconnects the battery which has given the car just a little bit of juice, grabs the keys from my dad, and says, "Hey dad" and then quickly leaps in the car, locks it, and shows my dad he is holding the keys. My dad became quite flustered as he started yelling at him for now getting himself into the same situation that he just got out of. My brother pretended to panic, but then looked at my dad and, while not breaking eye contact, unlocked the door with the actual manual locking button, and opened the door. My dad was now the one in stunned silence and, realizing his anxiety had gotten the best of him, he began laughing and told my brother, who is now laughing uncontrollably, to "shut up".
As my brother and I howled about this story and joked about potential newspaper headlines of a man being rescued from being trapped in his car, I couldn't help but wonder what the hell had happened. My parents are not dumb people by any stretch of the imagination. My mother has a master's degree in education and currently works as an interpreter for the courts, which means she does simultaneous interpretation which I find impossible. My father also has a college education and is so incredibly mechanically minded that he is the Portuguese version of MacGyver. How the two of them managed to end up in this situation just boggles the mind, but I'll be damned if it isn't one of the funniest things I have ever heard.
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