It was the scariest hour of my life.
The year was 1986. I was a 19 year old, single mom of a sweet, little toddler.
We stopped at the mall on a below zero day to exchange a stroller.
Because I was spinning a million plates at the time…school, work, parenting, and making sure my bangs stuck straight up in the air all day, like so…
…my brain wasn't constantly firing on all cylinders.
So, when I pulled the stroller out of the trunk of my car, I slammed it shut before realizing I locked the car -with the keys - and my daughter - in(freaking)side!
INSERT SLOW MOTION "NOOOOOOOO!" HERE.
I ran to the window to make sure she was okay.
Of course she was. She had no idea what the hell just happened.
I smiled and waved like, "Hi, cutie. It's all good. Your idiot mom didn't just lock you in a running car, where the heat is blasting, while you're wearing a snowsuit."
She smiled back like, "Awesome."
I wanted to die, so I did what any teen mom would do. I burst into tears...and started accosting strangers in the parking lot.
(I was not about to leave my baby and go into that mall for help. My daughter grew up in the era where child abductions were all the rage - Jacob Wetterling, Adam Walsh...then Jessica McClure fell into that well and I just about had to be institutionalized.)
But this is where it got interesting…
NO ONE WOULD HELP ME!
"Excuse me, m'am," I pleaded. "I accidentally locked my daughter in the car, and…"
She totally ignored me.
"Um, hi, sir, my daughter is locked in the car, and I was wondering if you could maybe call the police for me in the mall?" He snarled and said, "I should call the police on you."
Yeah...so far, not looking good.
Ooh! Here comes a girl my age! She'll understand! "Hey, um, could you do me a favor?" I ask, as if there is NO CHANCE she'll say no. She stares blankly at me and says, "How much?" I stare back, confused and ask, "What?" "How much muh-ney." She repeats like I'm stoo-pid. "Oh." I reply. (Absolutely on my last nerve by now. ) "Let's see. I happen to have a purse full of you-better-run-you-assy-b*tch-or-I-will-cut-you."
EXHALE
Not my best moment.
This went on and on. I probably begged ten people until I broke down, stunned, staring at my now fussy baby who had grown tired of the stupid game of peek-a-boo I was trying to distract her with between cursing at mall-goers.
I put my head against the car window, not able to hide my tears anymore, when I heard a voice.
"You okay?"
INSERT CHOIR OF ANGELS
It was an off-duty police officer and his four year old son. I told him what I did and he said, "If you hold his hand…tight…I'll go get a hanger and get her out. Deal?"
"Deal!"
He saved the day, my sanity and I learned a cute little ditty from his kid that I later taught my daughter.
CUE THE SONG ABOUT RAINDROPS BEING LEMON DROPS AND GUM DROPS THEN ABRUPT RECORD SCRATCH
That was then, and this is now….
Unlike the 80s, today we have priorities.
Babies are disposable, but if you lose a cell phone…HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST, CALL THE NAVY SEALS!
I left my swank new office last fall in a hurry, and, in my haste dropped my dear, irreplaceable iphone somewhere between my desk, the walk to my car, the parking lot, my driveway, and my walk up the steps to my house.
I realized my blunder upon returning home. It started as a "doi" moment as I wondered where my phone was buried inside my briefcase, which progressed into a slightly-freaked-out moment when I realized my phone may not BE in my briefcase, followed by an I-must-have-left-it-in-the-car moment (since I clearly leave stuff in cars), then acceptance of my fate, and a quick near-death experience upon realizing it was LOST-OST-OST...
Now, on any other day, this would have been a 20 minute inconvenience. I have the "find my iphone" software, which is the technology equivalent of surgically implanting a computer chip into your kid's arm, but the phone doesn't feel it…although you will kiss your phone as much as your kids when reunited.
So, I locate the phone, (it was in my office) go back to my office, only to remember the elevator is under maintenance, the stairwell is locked, and my key card is not programmed for after-hours access.
WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS???????!!!!!!!!!!
Thankfully, because it was a phone and not a child, I got LOTS of sympathy...and intervention.
There's a bar in the lobby of my office building so I wandered in there to see if I could use something called a "land line" (ask someone old what that is) to send an S.O.S. to the office manager to LET ME THE "F" IN! I called. She wasn't there. Seemingly, nobody was.
The manager of the bar dropped everything he was doing to brainstorm with me about how "we" were going to retrieve my phone...even if it meant breaking into my office, while the bartender insisted he pour me a shot, gratis. He was terribly disappointed when I said, "No, thank you." He simply wanted to feel useful in this dire situation that he was now, also, fully invested in.
???
I was eventually able to reach the office manager on her cell phone who carefully shouted the phone number at me of the one person she suspected might be up in the office working late. Her tone was crisp and aggressive like she was helping me dismantle a bomb. "LYNDA...CAN...YOU...HEAR...ME? HER NAME IS JAN...AND HER NUMBER IS 5...5...5...2...6...1...5...4...4...4...!" DID...YOU...GET...THAT?
"Yes, thank you." I replied, trying not to crack up...or call her Rambo.
Jan was up there. And she happily walked down, then back up, four flights of stairs to reconnect me with my phone, and today we are good friends because of the traumatic experience we shared...like in "nam".
So, let this be a lesson to you, people. Keep a decoy cell phone in your car at all times, that way, if you ever lock your child inside, someone will give a crap.
Peace.
Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc
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