Death of a Locksmith

AAAAAAAUUUUGGGHHH!!!

I locked my keys in the truck.

And left it idling.

For. 5. HOURS!

Perfect……on the day that gas prices have jumped SKY HIGH – BIFF, BAM, BOOM – STRAIGHT TO THE MOON, BABY! AND MY 94 CHEVY GUZZLER IS JUST GUH-GUH-GUHZLING THE GAS OUT OF THE GULF.

Called every fucking locksmith in the Yellow Pages and they were out assisting other fucking morons who fucking locked themselves out of the ENTIRE fucking city!

I had to wait an HOUR before I can get someone to pop the lock because my call was placed in the ORDER IN WHICH IT WAS RECEIVED!

DID I NOT JUST SAY THAT MY TRUCK HAS BEEN BURNING A HOLE IN THE OZONE LAYER?!?!

“I’m sorry, sir. Someone will be with you as soon as possible.”

Ppfftt…what’s an hour? We’ll just let the engine BURN BABY BURN!!!

Got a call from the locksmith that he is lost. Would I please stand outside to flag him down. No trees for shade, the office is out of view and I had to stand there like an idiot in the buh-LAZING sun but NO PROBLEM, BECAUSE HELP IS ON THE WAAAAAYYY!!!

As I stood there, I realized that I am the end result to the cause-and-effect of my own stupidity….key locked in >idling truck spit fume >stratosphere lose protection >UV radiation blast my epidermis >skin sprout melanoma = I die.

FINALLY he shows up and gets out of the truck and then his face looks like he has to take the biggest shit in his pants.

“Aw, man. I left my tools back there.”

That's when I called for a new locksmith because as it turned out, I was not the end result.