Doesn't locking your keys in your car just blow?!
They're right there, hanging in the ignition. Just what? A foot away but yet a million miles. Hanging there, unaware of the dilemma unfolding on the other side of the glass.
Do you call for a lock smith? Disrupt the home morning operations so keys can be brought to you? What? What? What?!
And do you admit it? No way!
My natural reaction is to not let any passer-bys see that anything is wrong while I scroll through my mind the options available. I take sneak peeks to see if the keys are really in there. Casually I feel through each and every pocket, hoping that they are magically not where I can see them but really just in one of the many, rarely used, coat pockets. Laughing, trying to convince myself this is all so funny. I try all the handles again and again, wishing for one of them to realize they are actually unlocked. All while chuckling that stupid false laugh.
This all, of course, makes me look even more like I'm up to something and people look like they want to ask but, thank God, they don't.
So finally, I took the proactive approach and just got on the bus to deal with it later.
I'm such a dumb ass.