HOW GOOD IS YOUR LOCKSMITH?

i was about 10 years old when my grandparents came from pocatello, idaho to our seattle home. the purpose of their trip was that my dad needed some help turning our garage into a nice family room. my grandpa loves that kind of stuff so naturally he wanted to help.

my dad is very busy with his clinic and such, so my grandpa would do as much as he could by himself while my dad was at work. and when my dad returned he would help with the hard stuff. for this project my dad bought a brand new table saw. it was nice, but it had one of those pesky safety flaps to keep you from touching the moving blade with your hand. but that didnt stop ol' grandpa.

i was in the other room watching tv when grandpa came in with a towel around his hand. "hey kids come look at this!" he had nicked his pinky finger. it took off all of the skin and most of the muscle to the bone. it was just gross enough to instantly impress a ten year old boy.

well, my mom heard the commotion and made grandpa come to the kitchen and clean up while she called my dad (who happened to be at a medical conference a couple hours away). he determined it wasnt bad enough to justify a trip to the emergency room and he would stitch it up when he got home.

it took him longer to get home than expected and my grandparents had already gone to bed. they were planning on leaving at 6am to return to idaho. so my dad had to get up early to make sure he took a look at the finger.

my grandpa is not fond of doctors. in fact, he hates them. my dad always said that his profession was a form of teenage rebellion. i have heard a few explanations but im still not sure i know exactly why he hates them so much. so, my dad had a heck of a time trying to get grandpa to stop loading to car long enough for him to have a look. and when he did, he had an even harder time convincing him that he needed stitches. "oh, i'll be ok. just give me an ice pack."

i think my dad threatened to slash his tires.

so, my dad starts sewing up grandpa's finger and grandpa is fuming. then enters grandma.

"charlie, i think...i locked the car with the keys in the ignition..."

it is a good thing the kids were still asleep. my grandpa was a sailor in ww2.

grandpa runs outside, pulling the threaded needle out of my dad's hand. my dad follows him, trying to calm him down. and my grandmother was probably being comforted by my mother.

there it was. a brand new white four-door sedan. engine running like a dream with a full tank of gas. the doors had auto-locked. after a couple minutes of further hot-headedness, my dad convinces grandpa to let him at least finish sewing up the finger and then they will call a locksmith.

it takes a long time to find a locksmith at 6am sunday morning.

after calling up several locksmiths in the area, they finally get ahold of one. a very small asian man. according to my dad the locksmith walked around the car once, noticed that the door key was dangling from the key ring, climbed on top of the car armed with a blank key and scissors, peered through the windshield at the dangling key and cut out a copy, jumped down and opened the door.

in related news, i am sitting 20 feet away from a guy who made his own 'bump key.' believe me, you want to look this up. you are no longer safe in your home.