Once upon a time, there was a girl who had a 2014 Mazda 2. Now, if you know anything about these little motherfuckers, you know there’s only one outside lock AND the lock/unlock buttons are situated on the middle console. These little cars are adorable, made for the girl in question. It’s small and eye-catching. And red, the girl’s favorite color. It’s little but badass and packs one helluva punch.
One night, the girl’s mother received a call.
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“I locked my keys in the car.”
The girl’s mama groaned, partly annoyed and kinda amused. Mama had told the girl to get a spare key AND to stop leaving her keys in the glove compartment.
As predicted, just what the fuck the girl’s mama said would happen, did.
Sooo, Mama dragged her fucking ass downstairs and found the girl and her friends with a lockout kit. EXCEPT…No one knew how to use the motherfucker.
Defeated, the girl and her friends went up to her bedroom. Mama had already left, after begging the girl to let her try with her trust hairpin and screwdriver. The girl vehemently denied her mother, afraid Mama would fuck up the car in some shape or form.
About half an hour after the keys were locked in, Mama’s phone rang again.
“You can try your way.”
Pleased, Mama jumped up, cell phone in hand. “Okay. I’m on it.”
Mama’s tried and true method for picking locks were screw drivers and hairpins. Now, see, Mama had picked various locks in her house. She didn’t use her skill for anything illegal. She’d learned how to engage the tumbler with her weapon of choice to break into bedrooms, bathrooms, the a/c closet, and safes that no longer had keys.
Mama and one of the girl’s younger sisters brought their fucking asses out into the hot humid night, around 10:00PM. For fifteen minutes, Mama tried her method. It was hotter than a motherfucker and she was growing frustrated. When she broke into the safe, it took her an hour, but she was inside, not in such a high-pressure situation. Here and now, neither hairpin or screw driver worked. Mama stopped and Googled how to break into a car without keys. A wire hanger was suggested, so Dumb Ass AKA Mama sent the girl’s younger sister inside for a wire hanger. Another fifteen minutes of alternating between hanger, screw driver, and hairpin commenced. Sometimes, Mama used all three at once.
In the meantime, Mama was so frustrated the car was no longer named Quinn. It was now known as Motherfucking Pain in the Fucking Ass Miserable Little Motherfucker with a Fucked-up Design.
Cars sped by. Eventually, one slowed down and paused right across the street, the driver intently staring. The girl’s younger sister started to get nervous.
“Ma, what if the police are called?”
“I hope those motherfuckers are called,” Dumb Ass…I mean Mama, yelled, jiggling the screwdriver furiously. “We’d get some fucking help!”
“Maybe, they’d shoot us.”
“Oh, fucking, please. They wouldn’t shoot us. Why the fuck would we be making all this goddamn noise if we’re trying to break into this motherfucker? Let the police come! Please, Jesus, send the police.”
So saying, the girl’s sister and Mama started to plot, wondering if the girl’s sister should go inside and call 911 and say someone was breaking into her sister’s car because, clearly, Mama was in distress and the girl’s sister was scared and desperate.
Before Mama could knock down that idea, the girl’s sister said, “Could we get into trouble for that?”
“Fuck yeah!” Mama snarled. “Fuck it. We’ll do this ourselves. If the police come, then we can get help.”
Mama decided to use the lockout kit. For the next 90 minutes, Mama struggled with the screw driver, hairpin, wire hanger, and lockout kit.
“Mama, it’s starting to rain,” the girl’s younger sister said, pointing to huge drops of water on the car door.
“No, it isn’t about to fucking rain. My ass is sweating that fucking much.” That’s how intense Mama’s labor was.
The struggle continued.
The girl’s sister who’d been keeping Mama company, grew tired. She shoved Mama’s cell phone they’d been using as a flashlight, to Mama. “Mama, can I sit on the hood of your car.”
Mama shrugged from her stooped position, attempting to situate the much- needed flashlight and her weapon of choice at that moment. “Sure. Go for it.”
Between wiping the sweat from her brow, cursing the little motherfucking car, hoping a neighbor called the police (after all, to the naked eye, it should appear as if an attempt at Grand Theft Auto was taking place), Mama stood. She stared at the lock on the door as if the motherfucker would magically open. Or she could will it to fucking open. Or a motherfucking genie would appear and open the motherfucker.
No such luck!
The girl’s sister began her journey to the hood of Mama’s car.
Mama soon became aware that the girl’s sister was having problems.
She couldn’t seem to make it to the hood.
Roll over. Clutch the hood and hold on for dear life while bracing her foot above the wheel well.
Climb the wheel well.
Lose her balance and almost fuck herself up.
Attempt to jump.
Land on her feet.
Repeat all of the above steps.
It was official. TWO dumb asses populated the earth.
After watching this, Mama said as casually as possible, “Problems?”
The girl’s sister glared at her. “I’m going inside!” she blared. “I’m tired.”
Mama was left alone.
Now, Mama isn’t fucking fond of the fucking dark. She’s a wuss. A chicken. A wimp. A pussy. And you know what? She’s damn proud of it!
Alone in the dark night, Mama became aware of every little sound. One of her biggest fear is snakes. They are known to inhabit the area. She imagined snakes slithering. Salamanders darting about. Frogs hopping. And winged creatures swooping down to eat her alive.
Something moved in the grass!
Mama dropped her shit, sprang to the back bumper of the car, and peeped around. Finding no danger beyond her overactive imagination, Mama tipped back to the door and went back to work.
Meanwhile, the girl’s sister came out again about ten minutes later, holding the keys to Mama’s car.
“I’m sitting inside the car while you open the door.”
Oh yeah, this was about a fucking locked door, huh?
Offering a single nod, Mama swore never to tell a soul of her nightmarish ordeal of hearing slithers in the grass.
An hour passed. The screwdriver became stuck in the lock. Then the hairpin.
Mama looked on YouTube and found a video on how to unlock a Mazda 2. It lasted about one minute and thirty-four seconds. The man in the video used something that mama couldn’t fucking see and what looked like a nail file and…..TADA….opened the door like a pro. Well, it turned out he WAS a pro. He was a fucking LOCKSMITH. If he didn’t know how to fucking open that door, he needed to go sit the fuck down somewhere.
Back to YouTube. Mama found out how to use the pump in the lockout kit to pry open the door.
Finally, a modicum of success! The door was pried open. Mama and the girl’s sister alternated between trying to reach the unlock/lock button in the middle console with the long rod (that had been nice and curved but was bent and twisted and kinda straightened) and going for the manual lock and handle on the upper door.
The rod was too short to open and they couldn’t maneuver the rod to the manual lock. They did reach the handle and managed to pull it open with the rod, but since the manual lock was still in the lock position, NOTHING happened.
Frustrated to fuck, Mama tried to get to the lock, but kept reaching the fucking handle instead.
Suddenly….SUDDENLY…it happened. A car drove up and two guys got out. Without hesitation, they headed in Mama’s direction.
The cavalry! Saviors! Rescuers!
After fifteen fucking minutes, they decided it might be easier to go through the passenger side and open the glove compartment to fish out her keys. Mama pumped up the door again. It took the rescuers (who Mama was sure were the next door neighbor’s son and his friend) all of ten minutes to finesse (their word) the door open. Another five had the glove compartment open. Another five minutes and the keys had been fished out.
The ordeal was over.
Mama took the key and ran to the driver’s side door to open it.
Wouldn’t you know it? The motherfucker didn’t work.
Mama had fucked up the door.
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