That Snows the Goat

Driving home from Anne Arundel Community College, I made the last few turns before I parked my old Opel Kadette on the street. Paying as much attention to driving as anyone does when they are in their own neighborhood, I was on auto-pilot. I drove along, with my window down, not because it was hot, but just to enjoy the feeling of the air as I drove. My mind was busily planning my evening; what to eat, what shows were on TV, and would I have time to go over to my friend’s house to listen to the new Rolling Stones album he had bought at The Music House last night.

I signaled as I made the last turn, using my hand instead of the turn signal. I liked doing that, using the old arm signals. It seemed to get other driver’s attention more than a blinking light, and was more pleasant, feeling the wind and not hearing the “dunk-a, dunk-a, dunk-a” of the Opel’s blinker. Hand signals also saved wear and tear on the light and battery. A small saving, but every bit counted.

Now it was downhill all of the way to my house, and I eased off the gas and put the car into neutral. I coasted along and then the thought came to me that I should roll up my window and reduce the car’s drag even more. Then I could make it all of the way home without having to engage the gears and use more gas. I rolled up the window, regretting that I couldn’t feel the breeze any longer. The low afternoon sun shining through the car’s windows quickly heated up the car.

“No problem” I thought. It would only be a minute or so and I’d be parked and out of the car. A small sacrifice, but ecologically sound.

I glanced at the speedometer. “20 miles per hour,” I thought, “and just two more blocks to go. I can turn off the engine and save even more gas.” Click, off went the ignition, and then I automatically completed the motion and pulled the key from the ignition, shoving it into my pants’ pocket.

The Opel now rolled silently along, gaining speed, while I made slight steering corrections as it drifted toward the right-hand curb.

“Hmm, getting close now, better straighten it out.” Click. The ignition lock engaged. I tried to jerk the steering wheel to the left, but the lock held, and my hands just slipped on the wheel.

The car continued on its way, coasting along, gaining speed. Now I was really concentrating on my driving, and looking ahead I realized I was not only going to jump the curb soon, but I was aimed directly at my mailbox. I began to sweat, and not just from the sun’s heat.

“Still time to unlock the column,” I thought, and reached for the keys. I discovered it was easier to put them in my pocket than get them out, as the seat belt became a one-way valve for my pocket. I let go of the wheel and reached for the buckle. Click. The belt jumped back into its holder. I nearly stood as I reached deep into my pocket, with my head bent low to monitor my progress toward the curb.

As I dug into my pocket, I noticed my next door neighbor, Romaine, standing on her doorstep. She was going through her mail and looked up as she turned to go into her house. Seeing my car approaching, Romaine raised her arm and waved. I did not wave back, but continued my quest for the key. I began to panic. Only two more houses to go until I ran over the curb and then my mailbox. I pushed my fingers deep into my pocket and wrapped around the keys. Pulling them free, I shoved one into the ignition switch. Oops, wrong key. More time passed, both slowly and quickly at the same time. I was in accident mode.

Romaine stopped waving, and stood there with her hand suspended in the air. I think she had noticed that I waving back and was approaching my usual parking space at a faster pace than normal. Or maybe she noticed that my right side tires had climbed the curb as I passed my other neighbor’s driveway and I was now driving tilted over like a carnival thrill-driver about to go up on two wheels.

“Ah-ha, the right key.” In one smooth motion I unlocked the wheel, steered the car back onto the street, hit the brakes and stopped dead in my parking space.

I had a problem removing the key from the ignition, until I remembered to turn the steering wheel a little to the right. Click. I got out of the car, and carefully locking the door, I walked up my front steps. I was much cooler now that I was out of the car. I finally waved hello to Romaine, who was standing, with her arm still in the air. I pretended nothing abnormal had happened, and went into the house.

“My mistake,” I thought. “was taking the key out.”

Or maybe it was not using the brakes.