genderist: (on phone) We have a Trigger emergency. (Trigger is the truck.)
The Hater: Oh, no.
genderist: Oh, yes. I’ve driven to work and pulled into a parking place, and I can’t get the key out of the ignition.
The Hater: What do you mean?
genderist: I can’t get it out. The radio comes on, but I can’t get everything to turn off. I can’t get it to crank, either. I can’t leave the key in the ignition or it’ll drain the battery, but I can’t get it out, either.
The Hater: Give me a minute to get dressed and I’ll come look at it.
genderist: Let me call home first and see if Dad had any problems with the truck first.
(call to home)
genderist: Dad, there’s trouble in paradise. Trigger won’t give me the key back.
Mom: (in the background because all phone calls home are answered over speaker phone so that everybody can have an opinion) That’s happened to mine, too!
Dad: Okay, there are some things we can try.
genderist: Dad, I’ve tried everything I know to do. (run-through of all of the brilliant things I tried before I called anybody)
Dad: Look at the gear shift. Is it in park?
genderist: (looks down) (shifts to park) (key pulls easily out of ignition)
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Dad: Was it in park?
genderist: Gag. Thanks , Dad. Your check is in the mail. (all laughing)
(call back to The Hater)
The Hater: I’m almost dressed; I can be there in about 8 minutes.
genderist: Dad fixed Trigger. You don’t need to come anymore.
The Hater: Really? What was wrong with it?
genderist: Pilot failure.*
The Hater: What?
genderist: It wasn’t in park.
The Hater: Gag. I’m going back to bed.
(I was gagged, too, and I also I wanted to go back to bed. This was a sign that I wasn't ready for a Monday yet.)
* "Pilot failure" is what BigDaddy would tell Nana when she would have problems with the car and have him to come get her in town. Usually this would happen after Nana would get into an identical car (grandmother grey boat) and wonder why her key did not fit. BigDaddy would usually be grossed out, but really liked to tell 'pilot failure' stories after cook-outs. I'm thinking that I've inherited an autosomal-recessive pilot failure gene from my Nana. Also, if it's possible for people to look down from Heaven and observe the lives of their loved ones, I think BigDaddy would have gotten a big kick out of the continued legacy of "pilot failure" before he went back to fishing the sweet spot.
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